l^illtam  Eascoc  Cl)aper 


THE   COLLAPSE    OF    SUPERMAN. 

GERMANY   VS.    CIVILIZATION. 

THE  LIFE  AND  LETTERS    OF   JOHN    HAY. 
2  vols.     Illustrated. 

LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF  CAVOUR.  2  vols. 
Illustrated 

ITALICA  :   Studies  in  Italian  Life  and  Letters. 

A  SHORT   HISTORY  OF  VENICE. 

THE  DAWN  OF  ITALIAN  INDEPENDENCE: 
Italy  from  the  Congress  of  Vienna,  1814,  to  the 
Fall  of  Venice,  1S40.  In  the  series  on  Conti- 
nental History.     With  maps.     2  vols. 

THRONE-MAKERS.  Papers  on  Bismarck,  Na- 
poleon III.,  Kossuth,  Garibaldi,  etc. 

POEMS,   NEV/  AND  OLD. 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 
Boston  and  New  York 


THRONE-MAKERS 


BY 


WILLIAM  ROSCOE  THAYER 


BOSTON   AND  NEW    YORK 

HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN    COMPANY 

(Cbc  Hibcrisitie  prcitfsl  CambribQe 


COPYRIGHT,  1899,  BY  WILLIAM  ROSCOE  THAYER 
ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


CT 

T33t. 


TO 

DR.  MORRIS  LONGSTRETH 

IN  MEDICINE,  ORIGINAL  AND  WISE 

IN  FRIENDSHIP,  STEADFAST 


o« 


31945 


PREFACE 

Since  1789  every  European  people  has  been 
busy  making  a  throne,  or  seat  of  government  and 
authority,  from  which  its  ruler  might  preside. 
These  thrones  have  been  of  many  patterns,  to 
correspond  to  the  diversity  in  tastes  of  races, 
parties,  and  times.  Often,  the  business  of  destroy- 
ing seems  to  have  left  no  leisure  for  building.  In 
England  alone  have  men  learned  how  to  remodel 
a  throne  without  disturbing  its  occupant ;  as  we 
in  America  raise  or  move  large  houses  without  in- 
terrupting the  daily  life  of  the  families  who  dwell 
in  them. 

To  portray  the  personality  of  some  of  the  con- 
spicuous Throne  -  Makers  of  the  century  is  the 
purpose  of  the  following  studies.  I  have  wished 
to  show  just  enough  of  the  condition  of  the  coun- 
tries under  review  to  enable  the  reader  to  under- 
stand what  Bismarck,  or  Napoleon  III,  or  Kossuth, 
or  GariVjakli,  achieved.  I  have  been  brief,  and 
yet  I  trust  that  this  method  has  afforded  scope  for 
exhibitinjr  that  influence  of  the  individual  on  the 


vi  PREFACE 

multitude  which  —  however  our  partial  science 
may  try  to  belittle  it  —  was  never  more  strikingly 
illustrated  than  by  such  careers  as  these  in  our 
own  time. 

The  group  of  Portraits  which  follow  require 
no  special  introduction.  In  the  "Tintoret"  and 
"  Giordano  Bruno "  I  have  brought  together  as 
compactly  as  possible,  for  the  convenience  of  Eng- 
lish readers,  what  little  is  known  about  these  two 
men.  Berti's  work  on  Bruno,  from  which  I  have 
drawn  largely,  deserves  a  wider  recognition  than 
it  has  received  outside  of  Italy ;  whoever  reads  it 
will  regret  that  that  eminent  scholar  was  prevented 
from  completing  his  volume  on  Bruno's  philosophy. 
The  sketch  of  Bryant  was  written  in  1894,  that  of 
Carlyle  in  1895,  on  the  occasion  of  their  centen- 
aries. 

My  thanks  are  due  to  the  proprietors  of  The 

Atlantic  Monthly,  The  Forum,  and  The  American 

Meview  of  Reviews  for  permission  to  reprint  such 

of  the  following  articles  as  originally  appeared  in 

those  periodicals. 

W.  R.  T. 

8  Berkeley  Street,  Cambridge, 
December  8,  1898. 


CONTENTS 

THRONE-MAKERS :  '*" 

BlSMAECK '^ 

Napoleon  III 44 

Kossuth '      •        •        .79 

Garibaldi 115 

PORTRAITS: 

Caklylk 163 

TlNTOKET 193 

Giordano  Bbuno 252 

Bryant 309 


THRONE-MAKERS 


BISMARCK 

One  by  one  the  nations  of  the  world  come  to 
their  own,  have  free  play  for  their  faculties,  ex- 
press themselves,  and  eventually  pass  onward  into 
silence.  Our  age  has  beheld  the  elevation  of 
Prussia.  Well  may  we  ask,  "  What  has  been  her 
message  ?  "What  the  path  by  which  she  climbed 
into  preeminence  ?  "  That  she  would  reach  the 
summit,  the  work  of  Frederick  the  Great  in  the 
last  century,  and  of  Stein  at  the  beginning  of  this, 
portended.  It  has  been  Bismarck's  mission  to 
amplify  and  complete  their  task.  Through  him 
Prussia  has  come  to  her  own.  What,  then,  does 
she  express  ? 

The  Prussians  have  excelled  even  the  Romans 
in  the  art  of  turning  men  into  machines.  Set  a 
Yankee  down  before  a  heap  of  coal  and  another 
of  iron,  and  he  will  not  rest  until  he  has  changed 
them  into  an  implement  to  save  the  labor  of  many 
hands  ;  the  Prussian  takes  flesh  and  blood,  and 
the  will-power  latent  therein,  and  converts  them 
into  a  machine.  Such  soldiers,  such  government 
clerks,  such  administrators,  have  never  been  manu- 
factured elsewhere.    Methodical,  punctilious,  thor- 


4  '       ' '  ■  ■'     '        TKEONE-MAKERS 

ough,  are  those  officers  and  officials.  The  govern- 
ment which  makes  them  relies  not  on  sudden 
spurts,  but  on  the  cumulative  force  of  habit.  It 
substitutes  rule  for  whim  ;  it  suppresses  individual 
spontaneity,  unless  this  can  be  transformed  into 
energy  for  the  great  machine  to  use.  That  Prus- 
sian system  takes  a  turnip-fed  peasant,  and  in  a 
few  months  makes  of  him  a  military  weapon,  the 
length  of  whose  stride  is  prescribed  in  centimetres 
—  a  machine  which  presents  arms  to  a  passing 
lieutenant  with  as  much  gravity  and  precision  as 
if  the  fate  of  Prussia  hinged  on  that  special  act. 
It  takes  the  average  tradesman's  son,  puts  him 
into  the  educational  mill,  and  brings  him  out  a 
professor,  —  equipped  even  to  the  spectacles,  — 
a  nonpareil  of  knowledge,  who  fastens  on  some 
subject,  great  or  small,  timely  or  remote,  with  the 
dispassionate  persistence  of  a  leech;  and  who, 
after  many  years,  revolutionizes  our  theory  of 
Greek  roots,  or  of  microbes,  or  of  religion.  Pa- 
tient and  noiseless  as  the  earthworm,  this  scholar 
accomplishes  a  similarly  incalculable  work. 

A  spirit  of  obedience,  which  on  its  upper  side 
passes  into  deference  not  always  distinguishable 
from  servility,  and  on  its  lower  side  is  not  always 
free  from  arrogance,  lies  at  the  bottom  of  the 
Prussian  nature.  Except  in  India,  caste  has  no- 
where had  more  power.     The  Prussian  does  not 


BISMARCK  5 

chafe  at  social  inequality,  but  he  cannot  endure 
social  uncertainty ;  he  must  know  where  he  stands, 
if  it  be  only  on  the  bootblack's  level.  The  satis- 
faction he  gets  from  requiring  from  those  below 
him  every  scrape  and  nod  of  deference  proper  to 
his  position  more  than  compensates  him  for  the 
deference  he  must  pay  to  those  above  him.  Clas- 
sification is  carried  to  the  fraction  of  an  inch. 
Everybody,  be  he  privy  councilor  or  chimney- 
sweep, is  known  by  his  office.  On  a  hotel  register 
you  will  see  such  entries  as  "Frau  X,  widow  of 
a  school-inspector,"  or  "Fraulein  Y,  niece  of  an 
apothecary." 

This  excessive  particularization,  which  amuses 
foreigners,  enables  the  Prussian  to  lift  his  hat  at 
the  height  appropriate  to  the  position  occupied  by 
each  person  whom  he  salutes.  It  naturally  devel- 
ops acuteuess  in  detecting  social  grades,  and  a 
solicitude  to  show  the  proper  degree  of  respect  to 
superiors  and  to  expect  as  much  from  inferiors,  — 
a  solicitude  which  a  stranger  might  mistake  for 
servility  or  arrogance,  according  as  he  looked  up 
or  down.  Yet,  amid  a  punctilio  so  stringent,  fine- 
breeding —  the  true  politeness  which  we  associate 
with  tke  w©»«l  "jeutlemaH"  —  raiKilj  axiaits;  f«r 
a  geBtlewiaa  «ai»«ot  We  iwii<le  hj  tke  raik  he  liftlds, 
wliieln  is  extermal,  kmt  »uly  l#y  •[ualities  witkim 
kiiutelf. 


6  THRONE-MAKERS 

Nevertheless,  these  Prussians  —  so  unsympa- 
thetic and  rude  compared  with  their  kinsmen  in 
the  south  and  along  the  Rhine,  not  to  speak  of 
races  more  amiable  still  —  kept  down  to  our  own 
time  a  strength  and  tenacity  of  character  that 
intercourse  with  Western  Europeans  scarcely 
affected.  Frederick  the  Great  tried  to  graft  on 
them  the  polished  arts  and  the  grace  of  the  French : 
he  might  as  well  have  decorated  the  granite  faces 
of  his  fortresses  with  dainty  Parisian  wall-paper. 
But  when  he  touched  the  dominant  chord  of  his 
race,  —  its  aptitude  for  system,  —  he  had  a  large 
response.  The  genuine  Prussian  nature  embodied 
itself  in  the  army,  in  the  bureaucracy,  in  state 
education,  through  all  of  which  its  astonishing 
talent  for  rules  found  congenial  exercise.  One 
dissipation,  indeed,  the  Prussians  allowed  them- 
selves, earlier  in  this  century,  —  they  reveled  in 
Hegelianism.  But  even  here  they  were  true  to 
their  instinct;  for  the  philosophy  of  Hegel  com- 
mended itself  to  them  because  it  assumed  to  re- 
duce the  universe  to  a  system,  and  to  pigeon-hole 
God  himself. 

We  see,  then,  the  elements  out  of  which  Prussia 
grew  to  be  a  strong  state,  not  yet  large  in  popula- 
tion, but  compact  and  carefully  organized.  Let 
us  look  now  at  Germany,  of  which  she  formed  a 
part. 


BISMARCK  7 

We  are  stnack  at  once  by  the  fact  that  until 
1871  Germany  had  no  political  unity.  During 
the  centuries  when  France,  England,  and  Spain 
were  being  welded  into  political  units  by  their 
respective  dynasties,  the  great  Teutonic  race  in 
Central  Europe  escaped  the  unifying  process. 
The  Holy  Roman  Empire  —  at  best  a  reminiscence 
—  was  too  weak  to  prevent  the  rise  of  many  petty 
princedoms  and  duchies  and  of  a  few  large  states, 
whose  rulers  were  hereditary,  whereas  the  emperor 
was  elective.  Thus  particularism  —  what  we  might 
call  states'  rights  —  flourished,  to  the  detriment 
of  national  union.  At  the  end  of  the  last  cen- 
tury, Germany  had  four  hundred  independent 
sovereigns :  the  most  powerful  being  the  King  of 
Prussia;  the  weakest,  some  knight  whose  realm 
embraced  but  a  few  hundred  acres,  or  some  free 
city  whose  jurisdiction  was  bounded  by  its  walls. 
When  Napoleon,  the  great  simplifier,  reduced  the 
number  of  little  German  states,  he  had  no  idea  of 
encouraging  the  formation  of  a  strong,  coherent 
German  Empire.  To  guard  against  this,  which 
might  menace  the  supremacy  of  France,  he  created 
the  kingdoms  of  Bavaria  and  Westphalia,  and  set 
up  the  Confederation  of  the  Rhine.  After  his 
downfall  the  Ciermau  Confederation  was  organ- 
ized, —  a  weak  institution,  consisting  of  thirty-nine 
members,  whose   common   affairs  were   regulated 


8  THRONE-MAKERS 

by  a  Diet  which  sat  at  Frankfort.  Represen- 
tation in  this  Diet  was  so  unequal  that  Austria 
and  Prussia,  with  forty-two  million  inhabitants, 
had  only  one  eighth  of  the  votes,  while  the  small 
states,  with  but  twelve  million  inhabitants,  had 
seven  eighths.  Four  tiny  principalities,  with  two 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  inhabitants  each,  could 
exactly  offset  Prussia  with  eight  millions.  By  a 
similar  anomaly,  Nevada  and  New  York  have  an 
equal  representation  in  the  United  States  Senate. 

From  1816  to  1848  Austria  ruled  the  Diet. 
Yet  Austria  was  herself  an  interloper  in  any  com- 
bination of  German  states,  for  her  German  sub- 
jects, through  whom  she  gained  admission  to  the 
Diet,  numbered  only  four  millions ;  but  her  pres- 
tige was  augmented  by  the  backing  of  her  thirty 
million  non-German  subjects  besides.  Prussia 
fretted  at  this  Austrian  supremacy,  fretted,  and 
could  not  counteract  it.  Beside  the  Confedera- 
tion, which  so  loosely  bound  the  German  particu- 
larists  together,  there  was  a  Customs  Union,  which, 
though  simply  commercial,  fostered  among  the 
Germans  the  idea  of  common  interests.  The 
spirit  of  nationality,  potent  everywhere,  awakened 
also  in  the  Germans  a  vision  of  political  unity, 
but  for  the  most  part  those  who  beheld  the  vision 
were  unpractical;  the  men  of  action,  the  rulers, 
opposed  a  scheme  which  enfolded  among  its  possi- 


BISMARCK  9 

bilities  the  curtailing  of  their  autocracy  through 
the  adoption  of  constitutional  government.  No 
state  held  more  rigidly  than  Prussia  the  tenets  of 
absolutism. 

Great,  therefore,  was  the  general  surprise,  and 
among  Liberals  the  joy,  at  the  announcement,  in 
February,  1847,  that  the  King  of  Prussia  had 
consented  to  the  creation  of  a  Prussian  Parlia- 
ment. He  granted  to  it  hardly  more  power  than 
would  suffice  for  it  to  assemble  and  adjourn ;  but 
even  this,  to  the  Liberals  thirsty  for  a  constitu- 
tion, was  as  the  first  premonitory  raindrops  after 
a  long  drought.  Among  the  members  of  this 
Parliament,  or  Diet,  was  a  tall,  slim,  blond- 
bearded,  massive-headed  Brandenbul'ger,  thirty- 
two  years  old,  who  sat  as  proxy  for  a  country 
gentleman.  A  few  of  his  colleagues  recognized 
him  as  Otto  von  Bismarck;  the  majority  had 
never  heard  of  him. 

Bismarck  was  born  at  Schonhausen,  Prussia, 
April  1,  1815.  His  paternal  ancestors  had  been 
soldiers  l)a('k  to  the  time  when  they  helped  to  de- 
fend the  Brandenburg  Mar(;h  against  the  inroads 
of  Slav  barbarians.  His  mother  was  the  daugh- 
ter of  an  employee  in  Frederick  the  Great's  War 
Office.  Thus,  on  both  sides  his  roots  were  struck 
in  true  Prussian  soil.  At  the  age  of  six  he  was 
placed   in  a  Berlin   boarding-sciiool,   of  which  he 


10  THRONE-MAKERS 

afterward  ridiculed  the  "spurious  Spartanism ; " 
at  twelve  he  entered  a  gymnasium,  where  for  five 
years  he  pursued  the  usual  course  of  studies,  — 
an  average  scholar,  but  already  noteworthy  for 
his  fine  physique ;  at  seventeen  he  went  up  to  the 
University  at  Gottingen,  In  the  life  of  a  Prus- 
sian, there  is  but  one  period  between  the  cradle 
and  the  grave  during  which  he  escapes  the  re- 
straints of  iron-grooved  routine :  that  period  com- 
prises the  years  he  spends  at  the  university.  There 
a  strange  license  is  accorded  him.  By  day  he 
swaggers  through  the  streets,  leering  at  the  women 
and  affronting  the  men;  by  night  he  carouses. 
And  from  time  to  time  he  varies  the  monotony 
of  drinking-bouts  by  a  duel.  Such,  at  least,  was 
the  life  of  the  university  student  in  Bismarck's 
time.  At  Gottingen,  and  subsequently  at  Berlin, 
he  had  the  reputation  of  being  the  greatest  beer- 
drinker  and  the  fiercest  fighter ;  yet  he  must  also 
have  studied  somewhat,  for  in  due  time  he  received 
his  degree  in  law,  and  became  official  reporter  in 
one  of  the  Berlin  courts.  Then  he  served  as  re- 
ferendary at  Aix-la-Chapelle,  and  passed  a  year 
in  military  service. 

At  twenty-four  he  set  about  recuperating  the 
family  fortunes,  which  had  suffered  through  his 
father's  incompetence.  He  took  charge  of  the 
estates,  devoted  himself  to  agriculture,  and  was 


BISMARCK  11 

known  for  many  miles  round  as  the  "mad  squire." 
Tales  of  his  revels  at  his  country  house,  of  his 
wild  pranks  and  practical  jokes,  horrified  the 
neighborhood.  Yet  here,  again,  his  recklessness 
did  not  preclude  good  results.  He  made  the  lands 
pay,  and  he  tamed  into  usefulness  that  restive 
animal,  his  body,  which  was  to  serve  as  mount  for 
his  mighty  soul.  Some  biographers,  referring  to 
his  bucolic  apprenticeship,  have  compared  him  to 
Cromwell;  in  his  youthful  roistering  he  reminds 
us  of  Mirabeau. 

To  the  Diet  of  1847  the  mad  squire  came,  and 
during  several  sittings  he  held  his  peace.  At  last, 
however,  when  a  Liberal  deputy  declared  that 
Prussia  had  risen  in  arms  in  1813,  in  the  hope  of 
getting  a  constitution  quite  as  much  as  of  expel- 
ling the  French,  the  blond  Brandenburger  got  leave 
to  speak.  In  a  voice  which  seemed  incongruously 
small  for  his  stature,  but  which  carried  far  and 
produced  the  effect  of  being  the  utterance  of  an 
inflexible  will,  he  deprecated  the  assertions  just 
made,  and  declared  that  the  desire  to  shake  off 
foreign  tyranny  was  a  sufficient  motive  for  the 
uprising  in  1813.  These  words  set  the  House  in 
confusion.  Liberal  deputies  hissed  and  shouted 
so  that  Bismarck  could  not  go  on;  but,  nothing 
daunted,  lie  took  a  ncvvspa[)er  out  of  his  pocket 
and  read  it,  there  in  the  tribune,  till  order  was 


12  THRONE-MAKERS 

restored.  Then,  having  added  that  whoever 
deemed  that  motive  inadequate  held  Prussia's 
honor  cheap,  he  strode  haughtily  to  his  seat,  amid 
renewed  jeers  and  clamor.  Such  was  Bismarck's 
parliamentary  baptism  of  fire. 

Before  the  session  adjourned,  the  deputies  had 
come  to  know  him  well.  They  discovered  that 
the  mad  squire,  the  blunt  "captain  of  the  dikes," 
was  doubly  redoubtable ;  he  had  strong  opinions, 
and  utter  fearlessness  in  proclaiming  them. 

His  political  creed  was  short,  —  it  comprised 
but  two  clauses:  "I  believe  in  the  supremacy  of 
Prussia,  and  in  absolute  monarchy."  More  royal- 
ist than  the  King,  he  opposed  every  concession 
which  might  diminish  by  a  hair's  breadth  the  royal 
prerogative.  Constitutional  government,  popular 
representation,  whatever  Liberals  had  been  strug- 
gling and  dying  for  since  1789,  he  detested.  De- 
mocracy, and  especiaUy  German  democracy,  he 
scoffed  at.  For  sixty  years  reformers  had  been 
railing  at  the  absurdities  of  the  Old  Regime ;  they 
had  denounced  the  injustice  of  the  privileged 
classes ;  they  had  made  odious  the  tyranny  of  pa- 
ternalism. Bismarck  entered  the  lists  as  the 
champion  of  "divine  right,"  and  first  proved  his 
strength  by  exposing  the  defects  of  democracy. 

Those  who  believe  most  firmly  in  democracy 
acknowledge,  nevertheless,  that  it  has  many  objec- 


BISMARCK  13 

tions,  both  in  theory  and  in  practice.  Universal 
suffrage  —  the  abandoning  of  the  state  to  the 
caprice  of  millions  of  voters,  among  whom  the 
proportion  of  intelligence  to  ignorance  is  as 
one  to  ten  —  seems  a  process  worthy  of  Bedlam. 
The  ballot-box  is  hardly  more  accurate  than  the 
dice-box,  as  a  test  of  the  fitness  of  candidates. 
Popular  government  means  party  government,  and 
parties  are  dogmatic,  overbearing,  insincere,  and 
corrupt.  The  men  who  legislate  and  administer, 
chosen  by  this  method,  avowedly  serve  their  party, 
and  not  the  state;  and  though,  by  chance,  they 
should  be  both  skilful  and  honest,  they  may  be 
overturned  by  a  sudden  revulsion  of  the  popular 
will.  Such  a  system  breeds  a  class  of  professional 
politicians,  —  men  who  make  a  business  of  getting 
into  office,  and  whose  only  recommendation  is  their 
proficiency  in  the  art  of  cajoling  voters.  A  gov- 
ernment should  be  managed  as  a  great  business 
corporation  is  managed:  it  has  to  deal  with  the 
weightiest  problems  of  finance,  and  with  delicate 
diplomatic  questions,  for  which  the  trained  efforts 
of  judicious  experts  are  needed;  but  instead  of 
being  intrusted  to  them,  it  is  given  over  to  politi- 
cians elected  by  multitudes  who  cannot  even  con- 
duct their  private  business  successfully,  much  loss 
entertain  large  and  patriotic  views  of  the  common 
welfare.     To  decide  an  election  by  a  show  of  hands 


14  THROXE-MAKERS 

seems  not  a  wliit  less  absurd  than  to  decide  it  by 
the  aggregate  weight  or  the  color  of  the  hair  of 
the  voters.  We  speak  of  the  will  of  the  majority 
as  if  it  were  infallibly  right.  The  vast  majority 
of  men  to-day  would  vote  that  the  sun  revolves 
round  the  earth:  should  this  belief  of  a  million 
ignoramuses  countervail  the  knowledge  of  one  as- 
tronomer? Shall  knowledge  be  the  test  of  fitness 
in  all  concerns  except  government,  the  most  criti- 
cal, the  most  far-reaching  and  responsible  of  all? 
Majority  rule  substitutes  mere  numbers,  bvdk,  and 
quantity  for  quality.  Putting  a  saddle  on  Intelli- 
gence, it  bids  Ignorance  mount  and  ride  whither 
it  will,  —  even  to  the  devil.  It  is  the  dupe  of  its 
own  folly ;  for  the  politicians  whom  it  chooses  turn 
out  to  be,  not  the  representatives  of  the  people, 
but  the  attorneys  of  some  mill  or  mine  or  railway. 
These  and  similar  objections  to  democracy  Bis- 
marck urged  with  a  sarcasm  and  directness  hitherto 
unknown  in  German  politics.  When  half  the 
world  was  repeating  the  words  "Liberalism," 
"Constitution,"  "Equality,"  —  as  if  the  words 
themselves  possessed  magic  to  regenerate  society, 
—  he  insisted  that  firm  nations  must  be  based  upon 
facts,  not  phrases.  He  had  the  twofold  advantage 
of  invariably  separating  the  actual  from  the  ap- 
parent, and  of  being  opposed  by  the  most  incom- 
petent Liberals  in  Europe.     However  noble  the 


BISMARCK  15 

ideals  of  the  German  reformers,  the  men  them- 
selves were  singularly  incapable  of  dealing  with 
realities.  Nor  should  this  surprise  us;  for  they 
had  but  recently  broken  away  from  the  machine 
we  have  described,  and  as  they  had  not  yet  a 
new  machine  to  work  in,  they  whirled  to  and  fro 
in  vehement  confusion,  the  very  rigidity  of  their 
previous  restraint  increasing  their  dogmatism  and 
their  discord. 

The  revolution  of  1848  soon  put  them  to  the 
ordeal.  The  German  Liberals  aimed  at  national 
unity  under  a  constitution.  Like  their  brothers 
in  Austria  and  Italy,  they  enjoyed  a  temporary 
triumph;  but  they  could  not  construct.  Their 
Parliament  became  a  cave  of  the  winds.  Their 
schemes  clashed.  By  the  beginning  of  1850  the 
old  order  was  restored. 

During  this  stormy  crisis,  Bismarck,  as  deputy 
in  two  successive  Diets,  had  resolutely  withstood 
the  popular  tide.  He  regarded  the  revolutionists 
as  men  in  whom  the  qualities  of  knave,  fool,  and 
maniac  alternately  ruled ;  the  revolution  itself,  he 
said,  had  no  other  motive  than  "a  lust  of  theft." 
One  of  its  leaders  he  dismissed  as  a  "phrase- 
watering-pot."  The  right  of  assemblages  he  ridi- 
culed as  furnishing  democracy  with  bellows;  a 
free  press  he  stigmatized  as  a  blood-poisoner. 
When  the  imperial  crown  was  offered  to  the  King 


16  THRONE-MAKERS 

of  Prussia,  Bismarck  argued  against  accepting  it; 
he  would  not  see  his  King  degraded  to  the  level 
of  a  mere  "paper  president." 

Such  opposition  would  have  made  the  speaker 
conspicuous,  if  only  for  its  audacity.  His  enemies 
had  learned,  however,  that  it  required  a  strong 
character  to  support  that  audacity  continuously. 
They  tried  to  silence  him  with  abuse;  but  their 
abuse,  like  tar,  added  fuel  to  his  fire.  They  tried 
ridicule;  but  their  ridicule  had  too  much  of  the 
German  dulness  to  wound  him.  They  called  him 
a  bigoted  Junker,  or  squire.  "Eemember,"  he 
retorted,  "that  the  names  Whig  and  Tory  were 
first  used  opprobriously,  and  be  assured  that  we 
will  yet  bring  the  name  Junker  into  respect  and 
honor."  Many  anecdotes  are  told  illustrating  his 
quick  repulse  of  intended  insult  or  his  disregard  of 
formality.  He  was  not  unwilling  that  his  enemies 
should  remember  that  he  held  his  superior  physical 
strength  in  reserve,  if  his  arguments  failed.  Yet 
on  a  hunting-party,  or  at  a  dinner,  or  in  familiar 
conversation,  he  was  the  best  of  companions.  Ger- 
many has  not  produced  another,  unless  it  were 
Goethe,  so  variedly  entertaining;  and  Goethe  had 
no  trace  of  one  of  Bismarck's  characteristics,  — • 
humor.  He  possessed  also  tact  and  a  sort  of  Ho- 
meric geniality  which,  coupled  with  unbending 
tenacity,  fitted  him  to  succeed  as  a  diplomatist. 


BISMARCK  17 

In  1851  the  King  appointed  him  to  represent 
Prussia  at  the  German  Diet,  which  sat  at  Frank- 
fort. The  outlook  was  gloomy.  Prussia  had 
quelled  the  revolution,  but  she  had  lost  prestige. 
Unable  to  break  asunder  the  German  Confedera- 
tion or  to  dominate  it,  she  had  signed,  at  Obniitz, 
in  the  previous  autumn,  a  compact  which  acknow- 
ledged the  supremacy  of  her  old  rival,  Austria. 
While  the  humiliation  still  rankled,  Bismarck 
entered  upon  his  career.  Hitherto  not  unfriendly 
to  Austria,  because  he  had  looked  upon  her  as  the 
extinguisher  of  the  revolution,  which  he  hated 
most  of  all,  he  began,  now  that  the  danger  was 
over,  to  give  a  free  rein  to  his  jealousy  of  his 
country's  hereditary  competitor.  In  the  Diet,  the 
Austrian  representative  presided,  the  rulings  were 
always  in  Austria's  favor,  the  majority  of  the 
smaller  states  allowed  Austria  to  guide  them. 
Bismarck  at  once  showed  his  colleagues  that 
humility  was  not  his  role.  Finding  that  the  Aus- 
trian president  alone  smoked  at  the  sittings,  he 
took  out  his  own  cigar  and  lighted  it,  — a  trifle, 
but  significant.  He  resisted  every  encroachment, 
and  demanded  the  strictest  observance  of  the  let- 
ter of  the  law.  Gradually  he  extended  Prussia's 
influence  among  the  confederates.  He  unmasked 
Austria's  insincerity;  he  showed  how  honestly 
Prussia  walked  in  the  path  of  legality;  until  he 


18  THRONE-MAKERS 

slowly  created  the  impression  that  wickedness  was 
to  be  expected  from  one,  and  virtue  from  the 
other. 

During  seven  years  Bismarck  held  this  outpost, 
winning  no  outward  victory,  but  storing  a  vast 
amount  of  knowledge  about  all  the  states  of  the 
Confederation,  their  rulers  and  public  men,  which 
was  subsequently  invaluable  to  him.  His  dis- 
patches to  the  Prussian  Secretary  of  State,  his 
reports  to  the  King,  form  a  body  of  diplomatic 
correspondence  unmatched  in  fulness,  vigor,  di- 
rectness, and  insight.  With  him,  there  was  no 
ambiguity,  no  diplomatic  circumlocution,  no  Ger- 
man prolixity.  He  sketched  in  indelible  outlines 
the  portraits,  corporal  or  mental,  of  his  colleagues. 
He  criticised  the  policy  of  Prussia  with  a  brusque- 
ness  which  must  have  startled  his  superior.  He 
reviewed  at  longer  range  the  political  tendencies 
of  Europe.  Officially,  he  kept  strictly  within  the 
limits  of  his  instructions ;  but  his  own  personality 
represented  more  than  he  could  yet  officially  de- 
clare,—  Prussia's  ambition  to  become  the  leader 
of  Germany.  In  all  his  dispatches,  and  in  all 
places  where  caution  did  not  prescribe  silence,  he 
reiterated  his  Cato  warning,  "Austria  must  be 
ousted  from  Germany." 

Do  not  suppose,  however,  that  Bismarck's  po- 
litical greatness  was  then  discerned.     Probably, 


BISMARCK  19 

had  you  inquired  of  Germans  forty  years  ago, 
"Who  among  you  is  the  coming  statesman?"  not 
one  would  have  replied,  "Bismarck."  At  the 
opera,  we  cannot  mistake  the  hero,  because  the 
moonlight  obligingly  follows  him  over  the  stage ; 
in  real  life,  the  hero  passes  for  the  most  part 
unrecognized,  until  his  appointed  hour;  but  the 
historian's  duty  is  to  show  how  the  heroic  qual- 
ities were  indubitably  latent  in  him  long  before 
the  world  perceived  them. 

In  1859  Bismarck  was  appointed  ambassador  at 
St.  Petersburg,  where  he  stayed  three  years,  when 
he  was  transferred  to  Paris.  This  completed  his 
apprenticeship,  for  in  September,  1862,  he  was 
recalled  to  Berlin  to  be  minister-president. 

His  promotion  had  long  been  mooted.  The  new 
King  William  —  a  practical,  rigid  monarch,  with 
no  Liberal  visions,  no  desire  to  please  everybody 
—  had  been  for  eighteen  months  in  conflict  with 
his  Parliament.  He  had  determined  to  reorganize 
the  Prussian  army ;  the  Liberals  insisted  that,  as 
Parliament  was  expected  to  vote  appropriations, 
it  should  know  how  they  were  spent.  William 
at  last  turned  to  Bismarck  to  help  him  subjugate 
the  unruly  deputies,  and  Bismarck,  with  a  true 
vassal's  loyalty,  declared  his  readiness  to  serve 
as  "lid  to  the  saucepan,"  Very  soon  tlie  Liberals 
began   to  compare    him   with   Straiford,    and    tlie 


20  THRONE-MAKERS 

King  with  Charles  I,  but  neither  of  them  quailed. 
"Death  on  the  scaffold,  under  certain  circum- 
stances, is  as  honorable,"  Bismarck  said,  "as 
death  on  the  battlefield.  I  can  imagine  worse 
modes  of  death  than  the  axe."  Hitherto  he  had 
strenuously  maintained  the  first  article  of  his 
creed,  —  "I  believe  in  the  supremacy  of  Prussia;  " 
henceforth  he  upheld  with  equal  vigor  the  second, 
—  "I  believe  in  the  autocracy  of  the  King." 

The  narrow  Constitution  limited  the  King's 
authority,  making  it  coequal  with  that  of  the  Up- 
per and  Lower  Chambers,  but  Bismarck  quickly 
taught  the  deputies  that  he  would  not  allow  "a 
sheet  of  paper "  to  intervene  between  the  royal 
will  and  its  fulfilment.  Year  after  year  the 
Lower  House  refused  to  vote  the  army  budget; 
year  after  year  Bismarck  and  his  master  pushed 
forward  the  military  organization,  in  spite  of  the 
deputies.  Noah  was  not  more  unmoved  by  those 
who  came  and  scoffed  at  his  huge,  expensive, 
apparently  useless  ark  than  were  the  Prussian 
minister  and  his  King  by  their  critics,  who  did  not 
see  the  purpose  of  the  ark  the  two  were  building. 
Bismarck  merely  insisted  that  the  army,  on  which 
depended  the  integrity  of  the  nation,  could  not 
be  subjected  to  the  caprice  of  parties ;  it  was  an 
institution  above  parties,  above  politics,  he  said, 
which  the  Kinc;  alone  must  control. 


BISMARCK  21  - 

At  the  same  time,  the  Minister-President  ac- 
tively pursued  his  other  project,  —  the  expulsion 
of  Austria  from  Germany.  When  the  King  of 
Denmark  died,  in  December,  1863,  the  succession 
to  the  duchies  of  Schleswig  and  Holstein  was  dis- 
puted. Bismarck  seized  the  occasion  for  occupy- 
ing the  disputed  territory,  in  partnership  with 
Austria,  England  protested,  France  muttered, 
but  neither  cared  to  risk  a  war  with  the  allied 
robbers.  When  it  came  to  dividing  the  spoils, 
Bismarck,  who  had  recently  gauged  Austria's 
strength,  struck  for  the  lion's  share.  Austria  re- 
sisted. Bismarck  then  approved  himself  a  master 
of  diplomacy.  Never  was  he  more  clever  or  more 
unscrupulous,  shifting  from  argument  to  argu- 
ment, delaying  the  open  rupture  till  Prussia  was 
quite  ready,  feigning  willingness  to  submit  the 
dispute  to  European  arbitration  while  secretly  stip- 
ulating conditions  which  foredoomed  arbitration  to 
failure,  and  invariably  giving  the  impression  tliat 
Austria  refused  to  be  conciliated.  As  the  juggler 
lets  you  see  the  card  he  wishes  you  to  see,  and  no 
other,  so  Bismarck  always  kept  in  full  view,  amid 
whatever  shuffling  of  the  pack,  the  apparent  legal- 
ity of  Prussia.  In  the.  end  he  drove  Austria  to 
desperation. 

In    June,    18GG,    war   came,    with    fury.     One 
Prussian   army  crushed   with  a   single    blow   the 


22  THRONE-MAKERS 

German  states  which  had  promised  to  support 
Austria;  another  marched  into  Bohemia,  and,  in 
seven  days,  confronted  the  imperial  forces  at  Sa- 
dowa.  There  was  fought  a  great  battle,  in  which 
the  Prussian  crown  prince  repeated  the  master 
stroke  of  Bliicher  at  Waterloo,  and  then  Austria, 
hopelessly  beaten,  sued  for  peace. 

Bismarck  now  showed  himself  astute  in  victory. 
Having  ousted  Austria  from  Germany,  he  had  no 
wish  to  wreak  a  vengeance  that  she  could  not  for- 
give. Taking  none  of  her  provinces,  he  exacted 
only  a  small  indemnity.  With  the  German  states 
he  was  equally  discriminating:  those  which  had 
been  inveterately  hostile  he  annexed  to  Prussia; 
the  others  he  let  off  with  a  fine.  He  set  up  the 
North  German  Confederation,  embracing  all  the 
states  north  of  the  river  Main,  in  place  of  the  old 
German  Confederation;  and  thus  Prussia,  which 
had  now  two  thirds  of  the  population  of  Germany, 
was  undisputed  master.  The  four  South  German 
states,  Bavaria,  Wiirtemberg,  Hesse,  and  Baden, 
signed  a  secret  treaty,  by  which  they  gave  the 
Prussian  King  the  command  of  their  troops  in 
case  of  war. 

Europe,  which  had  witnessed  with  astonishment 
these  swift  proceedings,  understood  now  that  a 
great  reality  had  arisen,  and  that  Bismarck  was 
its  heart.     In  France,  surprise  gave  way  to  indig- 


BISMARCK  23 

nation.  Were  not  the  French  the  arbiters  of 
Europe?  How  had  it  happened  that  their  Em- 
peror had  permitted  a  first-rate  power  to  organize 
without  their  consent?  Napoleon  III,  who  knew 
that  his  sham  empire  could  last  only  so  long  as 
he  furnished  his  restless  subjects  food  for  their 
vanity,  strove  to  convince  them  that  he  had  not 
been  outwitted ;  that  he  still  could  dictate  terms. 
He  demanded  a  share  of  Rhineland  to  offset  Prus- 
sia's aggrandizement ;  Bismarck  refused  to  cede  a 
single  inch.  Napoleon  bullied ;  Bismarck" published 
the  secret  compact  with  the  South  Germans.  Na- 
poleon forthwith  decided  that  it  was  not  worth 
while  to  go  to  war. 

We  have  all  heard  of  the  sportsman  who  boasted 
of  always  catching  big  strings  of  fish.  But  one 
day,  after  whipping  every  pool  and  getting  never 
a  trout,  he  was  fain,  on  his  way  home,  to  stop  at 
the  fishmonger's  and  buy  a  salt  herring  for  sup- 
per. Not  otherwise  did  Napoleon,  who  had  been 
very  forward  in  announcing  that  he  would  take 
land  wherever  he  chose,  now  stoop  to  offer  to  hvy 
enough  to  appease  his  greedy  countrymen.  He 
would  pay  ninety  million  francs  for  Luxemburg, 
and  the  King  of  Holland,  to  whom  it  belonged, 
was  willing  to  sell  at  that  i)ricc;  but  Bismarck 
would  consent  only  to  withdraw  the  Prussian  gar- 
rison from  the  grand  duchy,  after  destroying  the 


24  THRONE-MAKERS 

fortifications,  and  to  its  conversion  into  a  neu- 
tral state.  That  was  the  sum  of  the  satisfaction 
Napoleon  and  his  presumptuous  Frenchmen  got 
from  their  first  encounter.  A  few  years  before, 
Napoleon,  who  had  had  frequent  interviews  with 
Bismarck  and  liked  his  joviality,  set  him  down 
as  "a  not  serious  man;  "  whence  we  infer  that  the 
Emperor  was  a  dull  reader  of  character. 

Although,  by  this  arrangement,  the  Luxemburg 
affair  blew  over,  neither  France  nor  Prussia  be- 
lieved that  their  quarrel  was  settled.  Deep  in 
the  heart  of  each,  instinct  whispered  that  a  life- 
and-death  struggle  was  inevitable.  Bismarck, 
amid  vast  labor  on  the  internal  organization  of 
the  kingdom,  held  Prussia  ready  for  war.  He 
would  not  be  the  aggressor,  but  he  would  decline 
no  challenge. 

In  July,  1870,  France  threw  down  the  glove. 
When  the  Spaniards  elected  Prince  Leopold  of 
Hohenzollern  to  their  vacant  throne,  France  de- 
manded that  King  William  should  compel  Leo- 
pold to  resign.  William  replied  that,  as  he  had 
not  influenced  his  kinsman's  acceptance,  he  should 
not  interfere.  The  prince,  who  was  not  a  Prus- 
sian, withdrew  of  his  own  accord.  But  the  French 
Secretary  of  State,  the  Due  de  Gramont,  had  blus- 
tered too  loudly  to  let  the  matter  end  without 
achieving  his  purpose  of  humbling  the  Prussian 


BISMARCK  25 

King.  He  therefore  telegraphed  Benedetti,  the 
French  Ambassador,  to  force  King  William  to 
promise  that  at  no  future  time  should  Leopold 
be  a  candidate  for  the  Spanish  crown.  Benedetti 
delivered  his  message  to  William  in  the  public 
garden  at  Ems;  and  William,  naturally  refusing  to 
bind  himself,  announced  that  further  negotiations 
on  the  subject  would  be  referred  to  the  Foreign 
Minister. 

The  following  morning  Bismarck  published  a 
dispatch  containing  a  brief  report  of  the  inter- 
view; adding,  however,  that  the  King  "declined 
to  receive  the  French  Amibassador  again,  and  had 
him  told  by  the  adjutant  in  attendance  that  his 
Majesty  had  nothing  further  to  communicate  to  the 
Ambassador."  This  deceitful  addition  produced 
exactly  the  effect  which  Bismarck  intended :  every 
German,  whether  Prussian  or  not,  was  incensed 
to  learn  that  the  representative  German  King  had 
been  hectored  by  the  French  emissary,  and  every 
Frenchman  was  enraged  that  the  Prussian  King 
had  insulted  the  envoy  of  the  "grand  nation." 
Bismarck,  who  had  feared  that  another  favorable 
moment  for  war  was  passing,  now  exulted,  and 
Moltke,  who  had  for  years  been  carrying  the  fu- 
ture campaign  in  his  head,  and  whose  face  grow 
sombre  when  peace  seemed  i)robable,  now  Hiniled 
a  grim,  contented  smile.      In  Paris,  the  ministers, 


26  THRONE-MAKERS 

the  deputies,  the  newspapers,  and  the  populace 
clamored  for  war.  Apparently,  Napoleon  alone 
felt  a  slight  hesitation;  but  he  could  hesitate  no 
longer  when  the  popular  demand  became  over- 
whelming. On  July  19  France  made  a  formal 
declaration  of  war,  and  the  Parisians  laid  bets 
that  their  victorious  troops  would  celebrate  the 
Fete  Napoleon  —  August  15  —  in  Berlin.  Had 
not  their  War  Minister,  Lebceuf,  assured  them 
that  everything  was  ready,  down  to  the  last  button 
on  the  last  gaiter  of  the  last  soldier? 

We  cannot  describe  here  the  terrible  campaign 
which  followed.  In  numbers,  in  equipment,  in 
discipline,  in  generalship,  in  everything  but  bra- 
very, the  French  were  quickly  outmatched.  When 
Napoleon  groped  madly  for  some  friendly  hand  to 
stay  his  fall,  he  found  that  Bismarck  had  cut  off 
succor  from  him.  The  South  Germans,  whom 
the  French  had  hoped  to  win  over,  fought  loyally 
under  the  command  of  Prussia;  Austria,  who 
might  have  been  persuaded  to  strike  back  at  her 
late  conqueror,  dared  not  move  for  fear  of  Russia, 
whose  friendship  Bismarck  had  secured ;  and  Italy, 
instead  of  aiding  France,  lost  no  time  in  complet- 
ing her  own  unification  by  entering  Rome  when 
the  French  garrison  was  withdrawn.  Forsaken 
and  outwitted,  the  French  Empire  sank  without 
even  an  expiring  flash  of  that  tinsel  glory  which 


BISMARCK  27 

had  so  long  bedizened  its  corruption.  And  when 
the  French  people,  lashed  to  desperation,  contin- 
ued the  war  which  the  Empire  had  brought  upon 
them,  they  but  suffered  a  long  agony  of  losses 
before  accepting  the  inevitable  defeat.  They  paid 
the  penalty  of  their  former  arrogance  in  every 
coin  known  to  the  vanquished,  —  in  military  ruin, 
in  an  enormous  indemnity,  in  the  occupation  of 
their  land  by  the  victorious  Prussians,  and  in  the 
cession  of  two  rich  provinces.  Nor  was  that 
enough :  they  had  to  submit  to  a  humiliation  which, 
to  the  imagination  at  least,  seems  the  worst  of  all, 
—  the  proclamation  of  the  Prussian  King  William 
as  German  Emperor  in  their  palace  at  Versailles, 
the  shrine  of  French  pomp,  where  two  centuries 
before  Louis  XIV  had  embodied  the  ambition, 
the  glory,  and  the  pride  of  France.  The  German 
cannon  bombarding  beleaguered  Paris  paused, 
while  the  sovereigns  of  the  German  states  hailed 
William  as  their  Emperor. 

This  consummation  of  German  unity  was  the 
logical  outcome  of  an  international  war,  in  wliich 
all  the  Germans  had  been  impelled,  by  mutual 
interests  quite  as  much  as  by  kinship,  to  join 
forces  against  an  alien  foe.  Twenty  years  before, 
Bismarck  had  opposed  German  unity,  because  it 
would  then  have  made  Prussia  the  jjlaything  of 
her  confederates;   in  this  later  scheme  he  was  the 


28  THRONE-MAKERS 

chief  agent,   if  not  the  originator,   for  he  knew 
that  the  primacy  of  Prussia  ran  no  more  risk. 

Let  us  pause  a  moment  and  look  back.  Only 
a  decade  earlier,  in  1861,  when  Bismarck  became 
minister,  Prussia  was  but  a  second-rate  power, 
Germany  was  a  medley  of  miscellaneous  states, 
Austria  still  held  her  traditional  supremacy,  the 
French  Emperor  seemed  firmly  established.  Now, 
in  1871,  Austria  has  been  humbled,  France  crushed, 
Napoleon  whiffed  off  into  outer  darkness,  and 
Prussia  stands  unchallenged  at  the  head  of  United 
Germany.  Many  men  —  the  narrow,  patient 
King,  the  taciturn  Moltke,  the  energetic  Von 
Roon  —  have  contributed  to  this  result;  but  to 
Bismarck  rightly  belongs  the  highest  credit.  Slow 
to  prepare  and  swift  to  strike,  he  it  was  who  mea- 
sured the  full  capacity  of  that  great  machine,  the 
Prussian  army,  and  let  it  do  its  work  the  moment 
Fortune  signaled;  he  it  was  who  knew  that  needle 
guns  and  discipline  would  overcome  in  the  end  the 
long  prestige  of  Austria  and  the  wordy  insolence 
of  France.  Looking  back,  we  are  amazed  at  his 
achievements,  —  many  a  step  seems  audacious ; 
but  if  we  investigate,  we  find  that  Bismarck  had 
never  threatened,  never  dared,  more  than  his 
strength  at  the  time  warranted.  The  gods  love 
men  of  the  positive  degree,  and  reward  them  by 
converting;  their  words  into  facts. 


BISMARCK  29 

Of  the  German  Empire  thus  formed  Bismarck 
was  Chancellor  for  twenty  years.  His  foreign 
policy  hinged  on  one  necessity,  —  the  isolation  of 
France.  To  that  end  he  made  a  Triple  Alliance, 
in  which  Russia  and  Austria  were  his  partners 
first,  and  afterward  Italy  took  Russia's  place.  He 
prevented  the  Franco-Russian  coalition,  which 
would  place  Germany  between  the  hammer  and 
the  anvil.  From  1871  to  1890  he  was  not  less 
the  arbiter  of  Europe  than  the  autocrat  of  Ger- 
many. 

Nevertheless,  although  in  the  management  of 
home  affairs  Bismarck  usually  prevailed,  he  pre- 
vailed to  the  detriment  of  Germany's  progress 
in  self-government.  The  Empire,  like  Prussia 
herself,  is  based  on  constitutionalism:  what  hope 
is  there  for  constitutionalism,  when  at  any  moment 
the  vote  of  a  majority  of  the  people's  representa- 
tives can  be  nullified  by  an  arbitrary  prime  min- 
ister? Bismarck  carried  his  measures  in  one  of 
two  ways :  he  either  formed  a  temporary  combina- 
tion with  mutually  discordant  parliamentary  groups 
and  therel)y  secured  a  majority  vote,  or,  when 
unable  to  do  this,  by  threatening  to  resign  he  gave 
the  Emperor  an  excuse  for  vetoing  an  objection- 
able bill.  Despising  representative  government, 
with  its  interminable  chatter,  its  red  tape,  its  in- 
discreet meddling,  and  its  whimsical  revulsions, 


30  THRONE-MAKERS 

Bismarck  never  concealed  his  scorn.  If  he  be- 
lieved a  measure  to  be  needed,  he  went  down  into 
the  parliamentary  market-place,  and  by  induce- 
ments, not  of  money,  but  of  concessions,  he  won 
over  votes.  At  one  time  or  another,  every  group 
has  voted  against  him  and  every  group  has  voted 
for  him.  When  he  was  fighting  the  Vatican, 
for  instance,  he  conciliated  the  Jews ;  when  Jew- 
baiting  was  his  purpose,  he  promised  the  Cath- 
olics favor  in  return  for  their  support.  Being 
amenable  to  the  Emperor  alone,  and  not,  like  the 
British  premier,  the  head  of  a  party,  he  dwelt 
above  the  caprice  of  parties.  Men  thought,  at 
first,  to  stagger  him  by  charges  of  inconsistency, 
and  quoted  his  past  utterances  against  his  present 
policy.  He  laughed  at  them.  Consistency,  he 
held,  is  the  clog  of  men  who  do  not  advance; 
for  himself,  he  had  no  hesitation  in  altering  his 
policy  as  fast  as  circumstances  required.  With 
characteristic  bluntness,  he  did  not  disguise  his 
intentions.  "I  need  your  supjjort,"  he  would  say 
to  a  hostile  group,  "and  I  will  stand  by  your  bill 
if  you  will  vote  for  mine."  ''''Do  ut  des  "  was  his 
motto;  "an  honest  broker"  his  self -given  nick- 
name. 

Such  a  government  cannot  properly  be  called 
representative ;  it  dangles  between  the  two  incom- 
patibles,  constitutionalism  and  autocracy.     Doubt- 


BISMARCK  31 

less  Bismarck  knew  better  than  the  herd  of  depu- 
ties what  woiikl  best  serve  at  a  given  moment 
the  interests  of  Germany;  but  his  methods  were 
demoralizing,  and  so  personal  that  they  made  no 
provision  for  the  future.  His  system  could  not 
be  permanent  unless  in  every  generation  an  auto- 
crat as  powerful  and  disinterested  as  himself  should 
arise  to  wield  it;  but  nature  does  not  rejieat  her 
Bismarcks  and  her  Cromwells.  At  the  end  of  his 
career,  Germany  has  still  to  undergo  her  appren- 
ticeship in  self-government. 

Two  important  struggles,  in  which  he  engaged 
with  all  his  might,  call  for  especial  mention. 

The  first  is  the  CidturJcampf,  or  contest  with 
the  Pope  over  the  appointment  of  Catholic  bishops 
and  clergy  in  Prussia.  Bismarck  insisted  that 
the  Pope  should  submit  his  nominations  to  the 
approval  of  the  King;  Pius  IX  maintained  that 
in  spiritual  matters  he  could  be  bound  by  no 
temporal  lord.  Bismarck  passed  stern  laws;  he 
withheld  the  stipend  paid  to  the  Catholic  clergy ; 
he  imprisoned  some  of  them;  he  broke  up  the 
parishes  of  others.  It  was  the  mediieval  war  of 
investitures  over  again,  and  again  tlie  Pope  won. 
Bismarck  discovered  that  against  the  intangible 
resistance  of  Kome  his  Krupp  guns  were  i)o\ver- 
less.  After  fifteen  years  of  iuetfectual  battling, 
the  Chancellor  surrendered. 


32  THRONE-MAKERS 

Similar  discomfiture  came  to  him  from  the 
Socialists.  When  he  entered  upon  his  ministerial 
career,  they  were  but  a  gang  of  noisy  fanatics; 
when  he  quitted  it,  they  were  a  great  political 
j)arty,  holding  the  balance  of  power  in  the  Reichs- 
tag, and  infecting  Germany  with  their  doctrines. 
At  first  he  thought  to  extii'pate  them  by  violence, 
but  they  throve  under  persecution;  then  he  pro- 
pitiated them,  and  even  strove  to  forestall  them 
by  adopting  Socialistic  measures  in  advance  of 
their  demands.  If  the  next  epoch  is  to  witness 
the  triumph  of  Socialism,  as  some  predict,  then 
Bismarck  will  surely  merit  a  place  in  the  Social- 
ists' Saints'  Calendar;  but  if,  as  some  of  us  hope, 
society  revolts  from  Socialism  before  experience 
teaches  how  much  insanity  underlies  this  seductive 
theory,  then  Bismarck  will  scarcely  be  praised  for 
coquetting  with  it.  For  Socialism  is  but  despot- 
ism turned  upside  down;  it  would  substitute  the 
tyranny  of  an  abstraction  —  the  state  —  for  the 
tyranny  of  a  personal  autocrat.  It  rests  on  the 
fallacy  that  though  in  every  individual  citizen 
there  is  more  or  less  imperfection,  —  one  dishon- 
est, another  untruthful,  another  unjust,  another 
greedy,  another  licentious,  another  willing  to 
grasp  money  or  power  at  the  expense  of  his  neigh- 
bor, —  yet  by  adding  up  all  these  units,  so  imper- 
fect, so  selfish,  and  calling  the  sum  "the  state," 


BISMARCK  33 

you  get  a  perfect  and  unselfish  organism,  which 
will  manage  without  flaw  or  favor  the  whole  busi- 
ness, public,  private,  and  mixed,  of  mankind.  By 
what  miracle  a  coil  of  links,  separately  weak,  can 
be  converted  into  an  unbreakable  chain  is  a  secret 
which  the  prophets  of  this  Utopia  have  never  con- 
descended to  reveal.  Not  more  state  interference, 
but  less,  is  the  warning  of  history. 

The  fact  which  is  significant  for  us  here  is  that 
Socialism  has  best  thriven  in  Germany,  where, 
through  the  innate  tendency  of  the  Germans  to  a 
rigid  system,  the  machinery  of  despotism  has  been 
most  carefully  elaborated,  and  where  the  interfer- 
ence of  the  state  in  the  most  trivial  affairs  of  life 
has  bred  in  the  masses  the  notion  that  the  state  can 
do  everything,  —  even  make  the  poor  rich,  if  they 
can  only  control  the  lever  of  the  huge  machine. 

Nevertheless,  though  Bismarck  has  been  worsted 
in  his  contest  with  religious  and  social  ideas,  his 
great  achievement  remains.  He  has  placed  Ger- 
many at  the  head  of  Europe,  and  Prussia  at  the 
head  of  Germany.  Will  the  German  Empire  cre- 
ated by  him  last?  Who  can  say?  The  historian 
has  no  business  with  prophecy,  but  he  may  point 
out  the  existence  in  the  German  Empire  to-day  of 
conditions  that  have  hitherto  menaced  the  safety 
of  nations.  The  common  danger  seems  the  strong- 
est bond  of  union  among  the  German  states.     De 


34  THRONE-MAKERS 

feat  by  Russia  on  the  east  or  by  France  on  the 
west  would  mean  disaster  for  the  South  Germans 
not  less  than  for  the  Prussians ;  and  this  peril  is 
formidable  enough  to  cause  the  Bavarians,  for 
instance,  to  fight  side  by  side  with  the  Prussians. 
But  there  can  be  no  homogeneous  internal  gov- 
ernment, no  compact  nation,  so  long  as  twenty  or 
more  dynasties,  coequal  in  dignity  though  not  in 
power,  flourish  simultaneously.  Historically  speak- 
ing, Germany  has  never  passed  through  that  stage 
of  development  in  which  one  dynasty  swallows  up 
its  rivals,  —  the  experience  of  England,  France, 
and  Spain,  and  even  of  polyglot  Austria. 

Again,  Germany  embraces  three  unwilling  mem- 
bers, —  Alsace-Lorraine,  Schleswig,  and  Prussian 
Poland,  —  any  of  which  may  serve  as  a  provoca- 
tion for  war,  and  must  remain  a  constant  source 
of  racial  antipathy.  How  grievous  such  political 
thorns  may  be,  though  small  in  bulk  compared  to 
the  body  they  worry,  England  has  learned  from 
Ireland. 

Finally,  if  popular  government  —  the  ideal  of 
our  century  —  is  to  prevail  in  Germany,  the  de- 
spotism extended  and  solidified  by  Bismarck  will 
be  swept  away.  Possibly,  Germany  could  not  have 
been  united,  could  not  have  humbled  Austria  and 
crushed  France,  under  a  Liberal  system;  but  will 
the  Germans  forever  submit  to  the  direction  of  an 


BISMARCK  35 

iron  chancellor,  or  glow  with  exultation  at  the 
truculence  of  a  strutting  autocrat  who  flourishes 
his  sword  and  proclaims,  "My  will  is  law"?  No 
other  modern  desj)otism  has  been  so  patriotic, 
honest,  and  successful  as  that  of  Bismarck;  but 
will  the  Germans  never  awake  to  the  truth  that 
even  the  best  despotism  convicts  those  who  bow  to 
it  of  a  certain  ignoble  servility?  Or  will  they,  as 
we  have  suggested,  transform  the  tyranny  of  an 
autocrat  into  the  tyranny  of  Socialism  ?  We  will 
not  predict,  but  we  can  plainly  see  that  Germany, 
whether  in  her  national  or  in  her  constitutional 
condition,  has  reached  no  stable  plane  of  develop- 
ment. 

And  now  what  shall  we  conclude  as  to  Bismarck 
himself?  The  magnitude  of  his  work  no  man 
can  dispute.  For  centuries  Europe  awaited  the 
unification  of  Germany,  as  a  necessary  step  in  the 
organic  growth  of  both.  Feudalism  was  the  prin- 
ciple which  bound  Christendom  together  during 
the  Middle  Age ;  afterward,  the  dynastic  principle 
operated  to  blend  peoples  into  nations;  finally,  in 
our  time,  the  principle  of  nationality  has  accom- 
plished what  neither  feudalism  nor  dynasties  could 
accomplish,  the  attainment  of  German  unity.  In 
type,  Bismarck  belongs  with  the  Cliarlcmagnos, 
the  Cromwolls,  the  Napoleons;  but,  unlike  them, 
he  wrought  to  found  no  kingdom  for  himself ;  from 


36  THRONE-MAKERS 

first  to  last  he  was  content  to  be  the  servant  of 
the  monarch  whom  he  ruled.  As  a  statesman,  he 
possessed  in  equal  mixture  the  qualities  of  lion 
and  of  fox,  which  Machiavelli  long  ago  declared 
indispensable  to  a  prince.  He  had  no  scruples. 
What  benefited  Prussia  and  his  King  was  to  him 
moral,  lawful,  desirable ;  to  them  he  was  inflexibly 
loyal;  for  them  he  would  suffer  popular  odium 
or  incur  personal  danger.  But  whoever  opposed 
them  was  to  him  an  enemy,  to  be  overcome  by 
persuasion,  craft,  or  force.  We  discern  in  his 
conduct  toward  enemies  no  more  regard  for  mo- 
rality than  in  that  of  a  Mohawk  sachem  toward 
his  Huron  foe.  He  might  spare  them,  but  from 
motives  of  policy;  he  might  persecute  them,  not 
to  gratify  a  thirst  for  cruelty,  but  because  he 
deemed  persecution  the  proper  instrument  in  that 
case.  His  justification  would  be  that  it  was  right 
that  Prussia  and  Germany  should  hold  the  first 
rank  in  Europe.  The  world,  as  he  saw  it,  was  a 
field  in  which  nations  maintained  a  pitiless  strug- 
gle for  existence,  and  the  strongest  survived;  to 
make  his  nation  the  strongest  was,  he  conceived, 
his  highest  duty.  An  army  of  puny-bodied  saints 
might  be  beautiful  to  a  pious  imagination,  but  they 
would  fare  ill  in  an  actual  conflict  with  Pomera- 
nian grenadiers. 

Dynamic,  therefore,  and  not  morale  were  Bis- 


BISMARCK  37 

marck's  ideals  and  methods.  To  make  every  citi- 
zen a  soldier,  and  to  make  every  soldier  a  most 
effective  fighting  machine  by  the  scientific  appli- 
cation of  diet,  drill,  discipline,  and  leadership, 
was  Prussia's  achievement,  whereby  she  prepared 
for  Bismarck  an  irresistible  weapon.  In  this  ap- 
plication of  science  to  control  with  greater  exact- 
ness than  ever  before  the  movements  of  large 
masses  of  men  in  war,  and  to  regulate  their  ac- 
tions in  peace,  consists  Prussia's  contribution  to 
government;  in  knowing  how  to  use  the  engine 
thus  constructed  lies  Bismarck's  fame.  When 
Germans  were  building  air-castles,  and,  conscious 
of  their  irresolution,  were  asking  themselves,  "Is 
Germany  Hamlet?"  Bismarck  saw  both  a  defi- 
nite goal  and  the  road  that  led  to  it.  The  senti- 
mentalism  which  has  characterized  so  much  of  the 
action  of  our  time  never  diluted  his  tremendous 
will.  He  held  that  by  blood  and  iron  empires  are 
welded,  and  that  this  stern  means  causes  in  the 
end  less  suffering  than  the  indecisive  compromises 
of  the  sentimentalists.  Better,  he  would  say,  for 
ninety-nine  men  to  be  directed  by  the  hundredth 
man  who  knows  than  for  them  to  be  left  a  prey 
to  their  own  chaotic,  ignorant,  and  internecine 
passions.  Thus  he  is  tlic  latest  representative  of 
a  type  which  fiourished  in  the  age  when  the  mod- 
ern ideal  of  popular  government  had  not  jet  risen* 


i2.'ii;)45 


38  THRONE-MAKERS 

How  much  of  his  power  was  due  to  his  unerring 
perception  of  the  defects  in  popular  government 
as  it  has  thus  far  been  exploited,  we  have  already 
remarked. 

The  Germans  have  not  yet  perceived  that  one, 
perhaps  the  chief  source  of  his  success  was  his 
un-German  characteristics.  He  would  have  all 
Germany  bovmd  by  rigid  laws,  but  he  would  not 
be  bov^nd  by  them  himself.  He  encouraged  his 
countrymen's  passion  for  conventionality  and  tra- 
dition, but  remained  the  most  unconventional  of 
men.  Whatever  might  complete  the  conversion  of 
Germany  into  a  vast  machine  he  fostered  by  every 
art;  but  he,  the  engineer  who  held  the  throttle, 
was  no  machine.  In  a  land  where  everything  was 
done  by  prescription,  the  spectacle  of  one  man 
doing  whatever  his  will  prompted  produced  an 
effect  not  easily  computed.  Such  characteristics 
are  un-German,  we  repeat,  and  Bismarck  dis- 
played them  at  all  times  and  in  all  places.  His 
smoking  a  cigar  in  the  Frankfort  Diet;  his  oppo- 
sition to  democracy,  when  democracy  was  the 
fashion;  his  resistance  to  the  Prussian  Landtag; 
his  arbitrary  methods  in  the  German  Parliament, 
—  these  are  but  instances,  great  or  small,  of  his 
un-German  nature.  And  his  relations  for  thirty 
years  with  the  King  and  Emperor  whom  he  seemed 
to  serve  show  a  similar  masterfulness.     A  single 


BISMARCK  39 

anecdote,  told  by  himself,  gives  the  key  to  that 
sei'vice. 

At  the  battle  of  Sadowa  King  William  persisted 
in  exposing  himself  at  short  range  to  the  enemy's 
fire.  Bismarck  urged  him  back,  but  William  was 
obstinate.  "If  not  for  yourself,  at  least  for  the 
sake  of  your  minister,  whom  the  nation  will  hold 
responsible,  retire,"  pleaded  Bismarck.  "Well, 
then,  Bismarck,  let  us  ride  on  a  little,"  the  King 
at  last  replied.  But  he  rode  very  slowly.  Edg- 
ing his  horse  alongside  of  the  King's  mare,  Bis- 
marck gave  her  a  stout  kick  in  the  haunch.  She 
bounded  forward,  and  the  King  looked  round  in 
astonishment.  "I  think  he  saw  what  I  had  done," 
Bismarck  added,  in  telling  the  story,  "but  he  said 
nothing." 

On  Bismarck's  private  character  I  find  no  im- 
puted stain.  He  did  not  enrich  himself  by  his 
office,  that  hideous  vice  of  our  time.  He  did  not, 
like  both  Napoleons,  convert  his  palace  into  a 
harem;  neither  did  he  tolerate  nepotism,  nor  the 
putting  of  incompetent  parasites  into  responsible 
positions  as  a  reward  for  party  service.  That  he 
remorselessly  crushed  his  rivals  let  his  obliteration 
of  Count  von  Arnim  witness.  Tluit  he  subsidized 
a  "reptile  press,"  or  employed  spies,  or  liounded 
his  assailants,  came  from  his  belief  that  a  states- 
man too  squeamish  to  light  fire  with  fire  would 


40  THRONE-MAKERS 

deserve  to  be  burnt.  Many  orators  have  excelled 
him  in  grace,  few  in  effectiveness.  Regarding 
public  speaking  as  one  of  the  chief  perils  of  the 
modern  state,  because  it  enables  demagogues  to 
dupe  the  easily  swayed  masses,  he  despised  rhetor- 
ical artifice.  His  own  speech  was  un-German  in 
its  directness,  un-German  in  its  humor,  and  it 
clove  to  the  heart  of  a  question  with  the  might  of 
a  battle-axe,  —  as,  indeed,  he  would  have  used  a 
battle-axe  itself  to  persuade  his  opponents,  five 
hundred  years  ago.  Since  Napoleon,  no  other 
European  statesman  has  coined  so  many  political 
proverbs  and  apt  phrases.  His  letters  to  his  fam- 
ily are  delightfully  natural,  and  reveal  a  man  of 
keen  observation,  capable  of  enjoying  the  whole- 
some pleasures  of  life,  and  brimful  of  common 
sense,  which  a  rich  gift  of  humor  keeps  from  the 
dulness  of  Philistines  and  the  pedantry  of  doc- 
trinaires. His  intercourse  with  friends  seems  to 
have  been  in  a  high  degree  jovial. 

Not  least  interesting  to  a  biographer  are  those 
last  years  of  Bismarck's  life,  between  March, 
1890,  and  his  death,  on  July  30,  1898,  which  he 
passed  in  eclipse.  To  be  dismissed  by  a  young 
sovereign  who,  but  for  him,  might  have  been 
merely  a  petty  German  prince,  —  to  be  told  that 
he,  the  master  throne-maker,  was  unnecessary  to 
the  callow  apprentice, — galled  the  Titan's  heart. 


BISMARCK  41 

Eight  years  he  was  destined  to  endure  this  morti- 
fication; and  although  his  countrymen  everywhere 
hailed  him  as  their  hero,  the  fact  of  dismissal  gave 
him  no  repose.  Europe  has  seen  no  similar  spec- 
tacle since  she  bound  Napoleon,  Prometheus-like, 
on  St.  Helena.  But  Napoleon,  chafing  his  life 
away  there,  had  at  least  the  satisfaction  of  reflect- 
ing that  it  took  all  Europe,  allied  with  Kussia's 
blizzards  and  Spain's  heats,  to  conquer  him.  Bis- 
marck, storming  in  his  exile  from  power,  felt  now 
scorn,  now  hate,  for  the  "young  fellow "  (as  he 
called  him)  who  had  turned  him  out.  Here,  if 
ever.  Nemesis  showed  her  work.  Bismarck's  whole 
energy  had  been  bent  for  fifty  years  on  fortify- 
ing the  autocracy  of  the  Prussian  monarchs;  and 
now  a  young  autocrat  run  from  this  mould  bade 
him  go  —  and  he  went.  We  may  believe  that  it 
did  not  solace  Bismarck  to  find  that  the  "young 
fellow"  could  get  on  without  him;  or  to  see  that 
in  England  Gladstone,  six  years  his  elder,  led  his 
nation  till  long  past  eighty ;  Gladstone,  —  whom 
he  had  so  often  jeered  at  as  an  empty  rhetorician, 
—  England,  which  he  despised  as  the  home  of 
representative  government.  Could  it  be  that  con- 
stitutionalism was  kinder  than  despotism  to  master 
statesmen  ? 

A   great  man   we  may  surely   pronounce   him, 
long  to  be  the  wonder  of  a  world  in  which  great- 


42  THRONE-MAKERS 

ness  of  any  kind  is  rare.  If  you  ask,  "How  does 
he  stand  beside  Washington  and  Lincoln?"  it 
must  be  admitted  that  his  methods  would  have 
made  them  blush,  but  that  his  patriotism  was  not 
less  enduring  than  theirs.  With  the  materials  at 
hand  he  fashioned  an  empire ;  it  is  futile  to  specu- 
late whether  another,  by  using  different  tools, 
could  have  achieved  the  same  result.  Bismarck 
knew  that  though  his  countrymen  might  talk  elo- 
quently about  liberty,  they  loved  to  be  governed ; 
he  knew  that  their  genius  was  mechanical,  and  he 
triumphed  by  directing  them  along  the  line  of 
their  genius.  He  would  have  failed  had  he  ap- 
pealed to  the  love  of  liberty,  by  appealing  to  which 
Cavour  freed  Italy;  or  to  the  love  of  glory,  by 
appealing  to  which  Napoleon  was  -able  to  convert 
half  of  Europe  into  a  French  province.  Bismarck 
knew  that  his  Prussians  must  be  roused  in  a  dif- 
ferent way. 

It  may  be  that  the  empire  he  created  will  not 
last;  it  is  certain  that  it  cannot  escape  modifica- 
tions which  will  change  the  aspect  he  stamped 
upon  it;  but  we  may  be  sure  that,  whatever  hap- 
pens, the  recollection  of  his  Titanic  personality 
will  remain.  He  belongs  among  the  giants,  among 
the  few  in  whom  has  been  stored  for  a  lifetime 
a  stupendous  energy,  —  kinsmen  of  the  whirlwind 
and  the  volcano,  —  whose  purpose  seems  to  be  to 


BISMARCK  43 

amaze  us  that  the  limits  of  the  human  include 
such  as  they.  At  the  thought  of  him,  there  rises 
the  vision  of  mj'thic  Thor  with  his  hammer,  and 
of  Odin  with  his  spear;  the  legend  of  Zeus,  who 
at  pleasure  held  or  hurled  the  thunderbolt,  be- 
comes credible. 


NAPOLEON  III 

Madame  de  Stael  said  of  Eienzi  and  his  Ko- 
mans  :  "  They  mistook  reminiscences  for  hopes  ; " 
of  the  second  French  Empire  and  the  third  Napo- 
leon we  may  say :  "  They  staked  their  hopes  on 
reminiscences." 

In  our  individual  lives  we  realize  the  power  of 
memory,  suggestion,  association.  If  we  have  ever 
yielded  to  a  vice,  we  have  felt,  it  may  be  years 
after,  how  the  sight  of  the  old  conditions  revives 
the  old  temptation.  A  glance,  a  sound,  a  smell, 
may  be  enough  to  conjure  up  a  long  series  of 
events,  whether  to  grieve  or  to  tempt  us,  with 
more  than  their  original  intensity.  So  we  learn 
that  the  safest  way  to  escape  the  enticement  is  to 
avoid  the  conditions.  Recent  psychology  has  at 
last  begun  to  measure  the  subtle  power  of  sugges- 
tion. 

But  now,  suppose  that  instead  of  an  individual 
a  whole  nation  has  had  a  terrific  experience  of 
succumbing  to  temptation,  and  that  a  cunning, 
unscrupulous  man,  aware  of  the  force  of  associa- 
tion and  reminiscence,  deliberately  applies  both  to 


NAPOLEON   III  45 

reproduce  those  conditions  in  which  the  nation 
first  abandoned  itself  to  excess  :  the  case  we  have 
supposed  is  that  of  France  and  Louis  Napoleon. 
Before  the  reality  of  their  story  the  romances  of 
hypnotism  pale. 

After  Sedan  it  was  the  fashion  to  regard  Louis 
Napoleon  as  the  only  culprit  in  the  gilded  shame 
of  the  Second  Empire  ;  we  shall  see,  however,  that 
the  great  majority  of  Frenchmen  longed  for  his 
coming,  applauded  his  victories,  and  by  frequent 
vote  sanctioned  his  deeds.  A  free  people  keeps 
no  worse  ruler  than  it  deserves. 

The  Napoleonic  legend,  by  which  Louis  Napo- 
leon rose  to  power,  was  not  his  creation,  but  that 
of  the  French  :  he  was  simply  shrewd,  and  used 
it.     What  was  this  legend  ? 

When  allied  Europe  finally  crushed  the  great 
Napoleon  at  Waterloo,  France  breathed  a  sigh  of 
relief.  Twenty  campaigns  had  left  her  exhausted  : 
she  asked  only  for  repose.  This  the  Restoration 
gave  her.  But  the  gratification  of  our  transient 
cravings,  however  strong  they  may  be,  cannot  long 
satisfy ;  and  when  the  French  recovered  from  their 
exhaustion,  they  felt  their  permanent  cravings 
return.  The  Bourbons,  they  soon  realized,  could 
not  appease  those  dominant  Gallic  desires.  For 
the  Bourbons  had  destroyed  even  that  semblance 
of  liberty  Napoleon    took  care  to  preserve ;  they 


46  THRONE-MAKERS 

persecuted  democratic  ideas ;  they  brought  back 
the  old  aristocracy,  with  its  mildewed  haughtiness ; 
they  babbled  of  divine  right,  —  as  if  the  worship 
of  St.  Guillotine  had  not  suj)ervened.  During 
twenty  years  France  had  been  the  arbitress  of 
Europe ;  now,  under  the  narrow,  forceless  Bour- 
bons, she  was  treated  like  a  second-rate  power. 
Waterloo  had  meant  not  only  the  destruction  of 
Napoleon,  from  which  France  derived  peace,  but 
also  humiliation,  which  galled  Frenchmen  more 
and  more  as  their  normal  sensitiveness  returned. 

The  Bourbons,  knowing  that  they  might  be  tol- 
erated so  long  as  they  were  not  despised,  got  up 
a  military  promenade  into  Spain,  to  prove  that 
France  could  still  meddle  in  her  neighbors'  affairs, 
and  that  the  Bourbons  were  not  less  mighty  men 
of  war  than  the  Bonapartes.  They  captured  the 
Trocadero,  and  restored  vile  King  Ferdinand  and 
his  twenty-six  cooks  to  the  throne  of  Spain  ;  and 
they  hoped  that  the  one-candle  power  of  fame 
lighted  by  these  exploits  would  outdazzle  the  Sun 
of  Austerlitz.  But  no,  the  dynasty  of  Bourbon, 
long  since  headless,  proved  to  be  rootless  too :  one 
evening  Charles  X  played  his  usual  game  of  whist 
at  St.  Cloud  ;  the  next,  he  was  posting  out  of 
France  with  all  the  speed  and  secrecy  he  could 
command. 

Louis  Philippe,  who  came  next,  might  have  been 


XAPOLEON   m  47 

expected  to  please  everybody  :  Royalists,  because 
he  was  himself  royal ;  ReiJiiblicans,  because  he 
was  Philippe  Egalite's  son  ;  constitutionalists,  be- 
cause he  hated  autocratic  methods  ;  shopkeepers 
of  all  kinds,  because  he  was  '  practical.'  And  in 
truth  his  administration  may  be  called  the  Golden 
Age  of  the  bourgeoisie,  —  the  great  middle  class 
which,  in  France  and  elsewhere,  was  superseding 
the  old  aristocracy.  Napoleon  had  organized  a 
nobility  of  the  sword  ;  after  him  came  the  nobil- 
ity of  the  purse.  Louis  Philippe  could  say  that 
under  his  rule  France  prospered  :  her  merchants 
grew  rich ;  her  factories,  her  railroads,  all  the 
organs  of  commerce,  were  healthily  active.  And 
yet  she  was  discontented.  The  spectacle  of  her 
Citizen  King  walking  unattended  in  the  streets  of 
Paris,  his  plump  thighs  encased  in  democratic 
trousers,  his  plump  and  ruddy  face  wearing  a 
complacent  smile,  his  whole  air  that  of  the  senior 
partner  in  some  old,  respectable,  and  rich  firm,  — 
even  this  failed  to  satisfy  Frenchmen.  "  lie  in- 
spires no  more  enthusiasm  than  a  fat  grocer," 
was  said  of  him.  Frenchmen  did  not  despise 
money-making,  but  they  wanted  something  more: 
they  wanted  gloirc. 

Let  us  use  the  French  word,  because  the  Eng- 
lish fjlory  has  another  meaning.  Glory  implies 
something  essentially  noble,  —  nay,  in  the  Lord's 


48  thronp:-makers 

Prayer  it  is  a  quality  attributed  to  God  himself : 
but  gloire  suggests  vanity  ;  it  is  the  food  brag- 
garts famish  after.  The  minute-men  at  Concord 
earned  true  glory  ;  but  when  the  United  States,  lis- 
tening to  the  seductions  of  evil  politicians,  attacked 
and  blasted  a  decrepit  power,  —  fivefold  smaller  in 
population,  twenty  -  fold  weaker  in  resources,  — 
they  might  find  gloire  among  their  booty,  but 
glory,  never.  As  prosperity  increased,  the  Gallic 
appetite  for  gloire  increased.  Louis  Philippe 
made  several  attempts  to  allay  it,  but  he  dared 
not  risk  a  foreign  war,  and  the  failure  of  his  at- 
tempts made  him  less  and  less  respected. 

And  now  arose  the  Napoleonic  legend,  at  first 
no  more  than  a  bright  exhalation  in  the  evening, 
but  gradually  taking  on  the  sweep,  the  definite- 
ness,  the  fascination,  of  mirage  at  noonday.  Time 
enough  had  elapsed  to  dull  or  quite  blot  out  the 
recollections  of  the  hardships  and  strains,  the  mil- 
lions of  soldiers  killed  and  wounded,  the  taxes, 
the  grievous  tyranny ;  men  remembered  only  the 
victories,  the  rewards,  and  the  splendor.  A  new 
generation,  unacquainted  with  the  havoc  of  war, 
had  grown  up,  to  listen  with  fervid  envy  to  the 
reminiscences  of  some  gray-haired  veteran,  who 
had  made  the  great  charge  at  Wagrara  or  ridden 
behind  Ney  at  Borodino.  Those  exploits  were  so 
stupendous  as  to  seem   incredible,  and   yet  they 


XAPOLEOX   in  49 

were  vouched  for  by  too  many  survivors  to  be 
doubted.  Was  not  Thiers  setting  forth  the  mar- 
velous story  in  nineteen  volumes  ?  Were  not 
Beranger  and  even  Victor  Hugo  singing  of  the 
departed  grandeur?  Were  not  the  booksellers' 
shelves  loaded  with  memoirs,  lives,  historical  state- 
ments, polemics?  Paris,  France,  seemed  to  exist 
merely  to  be  the  monument  of  one  man.  And 
wherever  the  young  Frenchman  traveled  —  in 
Spain,  in  Italy,  along  the  Rhine  or  the  Danube, 
to  Vienna,  or  Cairo,  or  Moscow  —  he  saw  the 
footprints  of  French  valor  and  French  audacity, 
reminders  that  Napoleon  had  made  France  the 
mistress  of  Europe.  No  Frenchman,  were  he 
Bourbon  or  Republican,  but  felt  proud  to  think 
that  his  countrymen  had  humbled  Prussia  and 
Austria- 
Confronted  by  such  recollections,  the  France  of 
Louis  Philippe  looked  degenerate.  It  offered  no- 
thing to  thrill  at,  to  brag  over ;  it  sinned  in  hav- 
ing—  what  it  could  not  help  —  a  stupendous  past 
just  behind  it.  So  the  Napoleonic  legend  grew. 
The  body  of  the  great  Emperor  was  brought  home 
from  St.  Helena,  to  perform  more  miracles  than 
the  mummy  of  a  mediaeval  saint.  Power  and 
gloire  came  to  be  regarded  as  the  products  of  a 
Napoleonic  regime:  to  secure  them  it  was. only 
necessary  to  put  a  Bouapartist  on  the  throne. 


50  THRONE-MAKERS 

Contemporaneous  with  the  expansion  of  this 
spell,  Socialism  grew  up,  and  taught  that,  just  as 
the  hourgeoisie  had  overthrown  the  old  privileged 
classes  in  the  French  Revolution,  so  now  the  woi'k- 
ing  classes  must  emancipate  themselves  from  the 
tyranny  of  the  hourgeoisie.  Political  equality 
without  industrial  equality  seemed  a  mockery.  In 
this  wise  the  doctrines  of  a  score  of  Utopians  pene- 
trated society  to  loosen  old  bonds  and  embitter 
class  with  class.  And  besides  all  this,  there  was 
the  usual  wrangle  of  political  parties.  The  tide 
of  opposition  rose,  and  on  February  24,  1848, 
swept  away  Louis  Philippe  and  his  minister  Gui- 
zot.  Among  the  many  fortune-seekers  whom  that 
tide  brought  to  land  was  Louis  Napoleon. 

He  was  born  in  Paris,  April  20,  1808,  his  mo- 
ther being  Hortense  Beauharnais,  who  had  married 
Louis  Bonaparte,  King  of  Holland.  The  younger 
Louis  could  just  remember  being  petted  in  the 
Tuileries  by  the  great  Emperor  :  then,  like  all 
the  Bonapartes,  he  had  been  packed  off  into  exile. 
His  youth  was  chiefly  spent  on  Lake  Constance, 
at  Augsburg,  and  at  Thun.  In  1831  he  had 
joined  the  Carbonari  plotters  in  Italy.  The  next 
year,  through  the  death  of  his  elder  brother  and 
of  the  great  Napoleon's  son,  he  became  the  official 
Pretender  to  the  Bonapartist  hopes.  People  knew 
him  only  as  a  visionary,  who  talked  much  about 


NAPOLEOX   III  51 

his  "  star,"  and  by  writings  and  deeds  tried  to 
persuade  the  world  that  he  too,  like  his  uncle,  was 
a  man  of  destiny.  A  few  adventurers  gathered 
round  him,  eager  to  take  the  one  chance  in  a 
thousand  of  his  success.  Accompanied  by  some 
of  these,  in  1836,  he  appeared  before  the  French 
troops  at  Strasburg,  expecting  to  be  acclaimed 
Emperor  and  to  march  triumphantly  to  Paris. 
He  did  go  to  Paris,  escorted  by  policemen  ;  but 
his  attempt  seemed  so  foolish  that  Louis  Philippe 
merely  paid  his  passage  to  America  to  be  rid  of 
him. 

The  Prince  soon  returned  to  Europe  and  settled 
in  London,  where  he  lived  the  fast  life  of  the 
average  nobleman.  In  1840  he  set  out  on  another 
expedition  against  France.  Carrying  a  tame  eagle 
with  him,  he  landed  at  Boulogne  :  but  again  nei- 
ther the  soldiers  nor  populace  welcomed  him  ;  the 
eagle  seems  to  have  been  a  spiritless  fowl,  likewise 
incapable  of  arousing  enthusiasm  ;  and  the  Prince 
shortly  after  was  under  imprisonment  for  life  in 
the  fortress  of  Ham.  Nearly  six  years  later  he 
bribed  a  jailer,  escaped  to  London,  and,  like  Mi- 
cawber,  waited  for  something  to  turn  up. 

The  fall  of  Louis  Pliilippe  gave  Prince  Louis 
his  opportunity.  He  hurried  to  Paris,  but  was 
considerate,  or  cunning,  enougli  to  hold  aloof  for 
a  while  from  disturbing  public  affairs.     In  those 


52  THRONE-MAKERS 

first  months  of  turmoil  many  aspirants  were  de- 
stroyed, by  their  own  folly  and  by  mutual  collision. 
Discreetly,  therefore,  he  stood  aside  and  watched 
them  disappear. 

Of  the  several  factions,  the  Socialists  and  Red 
Republicans  first  profited  by  the  Revolution. 
They  organized  that  colossal  folly,  the  National 
Workshops,  in  which  120,000  loafers  received 
from  the  state  good  wages  for  pretending  to  do 
work  which,  had  they  done  it,  would  have  bene- 
fited no  one.  When  the  state,  realizing  that  it 
could  not  continue  this  preposterous  expense,  pro- 
posed to  close  the  workshops,  the  loafers  became 
sullen  :  when  the  wages  were  cut  off,  they  throttled 
Paris.  For  four  days,  in  June,  1848,  they  made 
the  streets  of  Paris  their  battle-ground,  and  suc- 
cumbed only  after  30,000  of  their  number  had 
been  killed,  wounded,  or  captured  by  Cavaignac's 
troops.  The  terror  inspired  by  those  idlers  of 
Louis  Blanc's  workshops  was  the  corner-stone  of 
the  Second  Empire. 

A  few  weeks  later,  Louis  Napoleon,  elected  by 
five  constituencies,  took  his  seat  in  the  Assembly. 
His  uncle's  name  was  still  his  only  political  capi- 
tal. His  own  record  —  the  Strasburg  and  Bou- 
logne episodes  —  inspired  mirth.  In  person  there 
was  nothing:  commandinsf  about  him.  An  "  olive- 
swarthy  paroquet "    some  one  called   him.     "  His 


NAPOLEON  m  53 

gray  eyes,"  says  De  Tocqueville,  "  were  dull  and 
opaque,  like  those  thick  bull's-eyes  which  light  the 
stateroom  of  a  ship,  letting  the  light  pass  through, 
but  out  of  which  we  can  see  nothing."  In  after 
years  "  inscrutable ''  was  the  word  commonly  cho- 
sen to  describe  his  cold,  unblinking  gaze.  Reserve 
always  characterized  his  manners  ;  for  even  when 
most  affable,  his  intimates  felt  that  he  concealed 
something:  or  simulated  something:. 

In  the  Assembly  he  strove  for  no  sudden  recog- 
nition ;  outside,  however,  he  and  his  emissaries 
busied  themselves  night  and  day  fanning  the  em- 
bers of  Imperialism ;  and  when,  in  December, 
1848,  the  French  people  voted  for  a  president, 
Louis  Napoleon  received  5,434,000  votes,  while  Ca- 
vaignac,  his  nearest  competitor,  had  but  1,448,000. 
How  had  this  come  about  ?  Old  soldiers  and 
peasants  composed  the  great  bulk  of  his  support- 
ers, every  one  of  them  glad  to  vote  for  "  the 
nephew  of  the  Emperor."  Next,  Socialists,  blue 
blouses  and  others,  voted  for  him  because  they 
hated  Cavaignac  for  repressing  Red  Republican- 
ism in  June ;  and  Monarchists  of  both  stripes, 
believing  that  he  would  be  an  easy  tool  for  their 
plots,  preferred  him  to  the  unyielding  Cavaignac. 
Mediocrity  and  other  negative  qualities  thus 
availed  to  transform  Louis  the  Ridiculed  into  the 
first  President  of  the  Republic.     "  We  made  two 


54  THRONE-MAKERS 

blunders  in  the  case  of  Louis  Napoleon,"  said 
Thiers  ;  "  first  in  deeming  him  a  fool,  and  next  in 
deeming  him  a  genius."  Louis  Napoleon  knew 
not  only  how  to  profit  by  both  of  these  blunders, 
but  also  how  to  superinduce  either  belief  in  the 
French  mind. 

Having  sworn  to  uphold  the  Republic,  he  began 
his  administration.  During  several  months  he  let 
no  sign  of  his  ambition  flutter  into  view,  but 
seemed  wholly  bent  on  discharging  the  duties  of 
president.  In  the  spring  of  1849,  however,  he 
put  forth  a  feeler  by  engineering  the  expedition 
against  the  Roman  Republic.  Honest  French- 
men protested,  but  a  majority  in  the  Assembly 
supported  him ;  and  presently  the  instinct  to  be 
revenged  on  the  Romans  for  defending  them- 
selves, and  thereby  inflicting  losses  on  the  French, 
silenced  many  who  had  disapproved  of  the  expe- 
dition at  the  outset.  Only  the  Radicals  forcibly 
resisted,  but  their  revolt  was  quickly  put  down. 
Louis  Napoleon  gained  the  prestige  of  having 
successfully  reasserted  French  influence  in  Italy, 
where,  for  a  generation,  it  had  been  supplanted 
by  the  influence  of  Austria.  Furthermore,  by  be- 
coming guardian  of  the  Pope,  he  propitiated  the 
Clericals,  who  might  some  time  be  useful.  That 
he  also  roused  the  wrath  of  the  Red  Republicans 
did  not  spoil  his  prospects. 


NAPOLEON  III  55 

One  year,  two  years  passed.  Faction  discred- 
ited faction.  Every  one  looked  on  the  Republic  as 
but  a  preparation  for  either  Anarchy  or  the  Em- 
pire. The  Reds,  irreconcilable  and  ferocious, 
terrorized  the  imagination  of  every  one  else.  No 
doubt  the  majority  of  honest  Frenchmen  —  if  by 
honest  we  mean  the  really  intelligent  and  patriotic 
minority  —  wished  a  republic,  but  those  Red  Ex- 
tremists had  made  all  Republicans  indiscriminately 
odious ;  and  as  the  Royalist  plotters  showed  neither 
courage  nor  ability,  the  great  multitude  of  French- 
men came  to  regard  the  Empire  or  Anarchy  as 
their  only  alternatives.  Most  of  them,  having 
nothing  to  gain  through  disorder,  leaned  to  the 
side  which  promised  to  leash  the  bloodhounds  of 
murder  and  pillage.  Spasm  after  spasm  of  terror 
swept  over  Paris,  and  when  Paris  shudders  iu  the 
evening  the  rest  of  France  shudders  by  daybreak. 
Anything  to  prevent  the  triumph  of  tlie  Reds  — 
with  their  guillotine  and  their  abolition  of  private 
ownership  of  property  —  became  the  ruling  in- 
stinct of  all  other  Frenchmen. 

Louis  Napoleon,  we  may  be  sure,  took  care  to 
encourage  the  belief  that  he  alone  could  save 
France  from  the  abyss.  In  addition  to  his  recog- 
nized newspaper  organs,  he  employed  a  literary 
bureau  to  spread  broadcast  liis  ])orti-ait,  his  bio- 
graphy, and    even    songs  witli  an    Im])erialist  re- 


56  THRONE-MAKERS 

frain.  He  knew  the  political  persuasiveness  of 
cigars  and  sausages  distributed  among  the  troops, 
and  of  wine  dispensed  to  their  officers.  He  was 
by  turns  modest  —  declaring  that  his  sole  purpose 
was  to  obey  the  Constitution  —  and  bold,  announ- 
cing that  he  would  not  shrink  from  making  France 
strong  and  prosperous,  whenever  Frenchmen  in- 
trusted that  task  to  him.  In  his  capacity  for 
waiting,  he  gave  the  best  proof  of  his  ability  ;  and 
we  must  add  that  the  Assembly,  by  its  folly,  gave 
him  indispensable  aid. 

The  Assembly,  for  instance,  restricted  the  suf- 
frage, in  the  hope  that,  by  preventing  workmen 
from  voting,  the  victory  of  the  Reds  might  be 
staved  off.  Again,  the  Constitution  declared 
that  no  president  was  eligible  for  reelection  until 
he  had  been  four  years  out  of  office.  As  the 
time  for  thinking  of  Louis  Napoleon's  successor 
approached,  the  moderates  of  all  parties  urged 
that  the  Constitution  be  amended,  so  that  he 
might  be  quietly  reelected,  —  there  being  no  other 
candidate  who  promised  to  preserve  order.  But 
the  factious  deputies,  by  a  narrow  vote,  rejected 
the  amendment. 

Napoleon  now  saw  his  chance,  and  openly  as- 
sailed the  Assembly.  He  posed  as  the  champion 
of  universal  suffrage,  the  true  representative  of 
the   people   misrepresented  by  the  factious  depu- 


NAPOLEOX  III  57 

ties.  They  proposed  to  subject  France  to  the 
uncertainties  of  a  political  campaign  :  his  continu- 
ation in  office  would  mean  the  certain  maintenance 
of  order.  But  Napoleon  did  not  rely  on  demagogy 
alone  :  in  secret  he  plotted  a  coujj  d'etat. 

The  trade  of  house  or  bank  burglar  long  ago 
fell  into  disrepute :  not  so  that  of  the  state  bur- 
glar, who,  if  he  succeed,  may  wear  ermine  jauntily, 
—  for  ermine,  like  charity,  covers  a  multitude  of 
sins.  Louis  Napoleon,  ready  to  risk  everything, 
laid  his  plans  for  stealing  the  government  of 
France.  The  venture  was  less  difficult  than  it 
seems,  for  if  he  could  win  over  four  or  five  men 
the  odds  would  be  with  him.  He  must  have  the 
Prefect  of  Paris,  the  Commandant  of  the  Garrison, 
the  Ministers  of  "War  and  of  the  Interior :  others 
miffht  make  assurance  double  sure,  but  these  were 
absolutely  necessary. 

Early  in  the  spring  of  1851  he  set  to  work. 
Chief  among  his  accomplices  was  his  half  brother, 
Morny,  —  a  facile,  audacious  man,  whose  reputa- 
tion, if  he  had  ever  had  any,  would  have  been  lost 
long  since  in  stock-swindling  schemes ;  after  him, 
in  importance,  came  Pcrsigny,  an  adventurer  who 
had  fastened  on  Louis  Napoleon  fifteen  years 
before;  Fleury,  a  major  most  active  and  efficient, 
without  (iualm,  for  he  foresaw  a  marshal's  huion  ; 
and  Maupas,  one  of  those  easy  villains  who,  never 


58  THRONE-MAKERS 

having  been  suspected  of  honesty,  are  spared  the 
fatigue  of  pretending  to  be  better  than  they  are. 
If  we  assume  that  all  these  gentlemen  were  Im- 
perialists for  revenue  only,  we  shall  do  them  no 
injustice. 

Their  first  move  was  to  send  Fleury  to  Algiers 
to  secure  a  general  to  act  as  minister  of  war. 
He  had  not  to  search  long;  for  Saint  Arnaud, 
one  of  the  Algerian  officers,  guessing  Fleury's 
purpose,  offered  his  services  forthwith.  But 
Saint  Arnaud  stood  only  fifty-third  in  the  line  of 
promotion  among  French  generals ;  some  excuse 
must  be  found  for  passing  by  his  fifty-two  seniors. 
In  a  few  weeks  the  French  press  and  official 
gazette  announced  an  outbreak  of  great  violence 
among  the  Kabyles  in  Algeria;  a  little  later 
they  reported  that  the  insurrection  had  been  sub- 
dued by  the  energy  of  General  Saint  Arnaud ; 
then,  another  proper  interval  elapsing,  Saint  Ar- 
naud had  come  to  Paris  as  minister  of  war. 

It  took  less  trouble  to  dismiss  the  Prefect  of 
the  Seine,  and  to  substitute  Maupas  for  him. 
Magnan,  who  commanded  the  troops,  had  already 
been  corrupted.  Half-brother  Morny,  at  the  criti- 
cal moment,  would  appear  in  the  Ministry  of  the 
Interior.  The  National  Guard  and  the  Public 
Printer  could  both  be  counted  on, — the  latter 
required  for  the  prompt   issuing  of  manifestoes. 


XAPOLEON   III  59 

Everything  being  ready,  the  President,  after  some 
brief  delays,  set  December  2  —  the  anniversary 
of  Austerlitz,  and  of  the  coronation  of  the  great 
Napoleon  —  for  committing  the  crime. 

On  the  evening  of  December  1,  he  held  his 
weekly  reception  at  the  Elysee ;  moved  with  his 
habitual  courtesy  among  the  guests ;  seemed  less 
stiff  than  usual,  —  as  if  relieved  of  a  burden ;  then 
went  to  his  study  for  a  last  conference  with  his 
fellow  -  conspirators.  The  next  morning  Paris 
learned  that  two  hundred  leading  citizens,  mili- 
tary and  political,  including  many  deputies,  had 
been  arrested  and  taken  to  Vincennes.  Placards 
declared  that  the  President,  having  had  news  of  a 
plot  against  the  state,  had  stolen  a  march  on  the 
plotters,  dissolved  the  Assembly,  proclaimed  uni- 
versal suffrage,  and  called  for  a  plebiscite  to  accept 
or  reject  the  constitution  he  would  frame.  At 
first,  the  stupefied  Parisians  knew  not  what  to  do. 
Then  the  deputies  who  had  escaped  arrest  met 
and  voted  to  depose  the  President ;  but  his  gen- 
darmes quickly  broke  up  the  meeting,  and  lodged 
the  deputies  in  prison.  Thanks  to  the  system  of 
centralization  which  France  had  long  boasted  of, 
Morny,  from  the  Ministry  of  the  Interior,  con- 
trolled every  prefect  in  France  by  telegrajdi. 
The  provinces  were  informed  that  Paris  had  ac- 


60  THRONE-MAKERS 

cepted  the  coup  d'etat  almost  before  Paris  had 
collected  her  dazed  senses  on  the  morning  of  the 
2d  of  December. 

The  chief  politicians  and  other  leaders  being 
caged,  there  was  no  one  left,  except  among  the 
workingmen,  to  direct  a  resistance.  They  did  re- 
volt, and  Napoleon  and  Saint  Arnaud  gave  them 
free  play  to  raise  barricades,  to  arm  and  gather. 
Then  the  eighty  thousand  soldiers  in  Paris  sur- 
rounded them,  stormed  their  barricades,  and  made 
no  prisoners.  Acompanying  this  suppression  of 
the  mob  was  the  bloodthirsty  massacre  of  a  multi- 
tude of  defenseless  men,  women,  and  children  who 
had  collected  on  the  boulevards  to  see  the  troops 
move  against  the  barricaders.  They  were  shot 
down  in  cold  blood,  the  soldiers  (according  to 
general  report)  having  been  rendered  ferocious 
by  drink.  Thus  was  achieved  the  crime  of  the 
con})  d'etat. 

By  this  crime  Napoleon  had  demonstrated  that 
he  had  the  necessary  force  to  put  down  the  law- 
less, and  that  he  did  not  hesitate  to  use  it;  by 
massacring  the  innocent  throng,  he  made  the  army 
his  accomplices,  against  any  risk  of  their  fra- 
ternizing with  the  populace.  A  fortnight  later, 
7,439,000  Frenchmen  ratified  his  crime  and  elected 
him  president  for  ten  years  :  only  646,000  voted 
against   him.     Napoleon    the  Great,  by  the  coup 


NAPOLEON   ni  61 

d'etat  of  the  18tb  Biumaire,  h^d  suppressed  the 
Directory ;  his  imitative  nephew  couhl  now  point 
to  an  equally  successful  2d  of  December. 

France  acquiesced  all  the  more  readily  because 
she  was  put  under  martial  law.  One  hundred 
thousand  suspects  were  arrested,  and  more  than 
ten  thousand  were  deported  to  Cayenne  and  Al- 
geria. Police  inquisitions,  military  commissions, 
and  the  other  usual  devices  of  tyranny  quickly 
smothered  resistance.  Under  the  pretense  of  sup- 
pressing anarchy,  —  an  anarchist  meaning  any  one 
■who  did  not  submit  to  Louis  Napoleon,  —  persecu- 
tion supplanted  law  and  justice.  Had  you  asked 
to  see  most  of  the  Frenchmen  whose  names  were 
the  most  widely  known,  you  would  have  been  told 
that  they  were  in  exile. 

Like  his  uncle,  Louis  Napoleon  waited  a  little 
before  putting  on  the  purple.  Only  on  December 
2,  1852,  the  anniversary  of  his  crime,  did  he  have 
himself  proclaimed  emperor.  The  mockery  of  a 
plebiscite  had  preceded,  and  he  had  assured  France 
and  Europe  that  the  "  Empire  means  peace." 

Having  reached  the  throne,  he  made  the  follow- 
ing arrangements  for  staying  on  it.  He  organized 
a  Senate  and  a  Council  of  State,  whose  members 
he  appointed.  The  public  were  allowed  to  elect 
members  to  the  Corps  Lcgishitif,  or  Legislature ; 
but  as  his  minions  controlled  the  polls,  only  such 


62  THRONE-MAKERS 

candidates  as  he  preferred  were  likely  to  be  chosen. 
He  suffered  a  few  opponents  to  be  elected,  in  order 
to  have  it  appear  that  he  encouraged  discussion. 
Otherwise,  he  scarcely  took  pains  to  varnish  his 
autocracy.  As  a  deft  Chinese  carver  incloses  a 
tiny  figure  in  a  nest  of  ivory  boxes,  so  did  Bona- 
parte imprison  the  simulacrum  of  Liberty  in  the 
innermost  compartment  of  the  political  cage  in 
which  he  held  France  captive. 

What  must  the  condition  of  the  French  people 
have  been  that  they  submitted  !  How  much  ante- 
cedent incapacity  for  government,  how  much  cher- 
ishing of  unworthy  ideals,  were  implied  by  the 
success  of  such  an  adventurer  !  And  what  could 
patriotism  mean,  when  the  French  fatherland 
meant  the  land  of  Louis  Napoleon,  Morny,  Mau- 
pas,  Persigny,  and  their  unspeakable  underlings  ? 
The  new  Empire  gave  France  what  is  called  a 
strong  government,  by  which  commercially  she 
throve.  Tradesmen,  seeing  business  improve  and 
their  hoards  grow,  chafed  less  at  the  loss  of  polit- 
ical freedom.  The  working  classes  were  propi- 
tiated by  public  woi'ks  —  the  favorite  nostrum  of 
socialists  and  tyrants  —  organized  on  a  vast  scale. 
Pensions  were  showered  on  old  soldiers,  or  their 
widows.  Taxes  ran  high ;  the  public  debt  had 
constantly  to  be  increased :  but  an  air  of  opulence 
pervaded  France. 


NAPOLEON  III  63 

Established  at  home,  Napoleon  now  looked 
abroad  for  gloire.  Before  his  elevation,  some  one 
had  warned  him  that  he  would  find  the  French 
a  very  hard  people  to  govern.  "  Not  at  all,"  he 
replied ;  "  all  that  they  need  is  a  war  every  four 
years."  Europe  had  formally  recognized  him,  — 
no  country  being  more  ready  than  England  to 
condone  his  great  crime.  Queen  Victoria,  the 
tyjiical  British  matron,  exchanging  visits  with  the 
Imperial  adventurer  made  an  edifying  specta- 
cle !  Presently  the  land-greed  of  England  and 
the  ^/oire-thirst  of  France  brought  the  sons  of 
the  Britons  who  had  whipped  the  great  Napoleon 
at  Waterloo  into  an  alliance  with  the  sons  of  the 
Frenchmen  who  had  there  been  whipped ;  and  in 
the  summer  of  1854  British  and  French  fleets 
swept  through  the  Bosphorus  and  across  the  Black 
Sea,  and  landed  two  armies  near  Sebastopol. 
Of  the  Crimean  war  which  ensued,  we  need  say 
no  more  than  that  it  was  immoral  in  conception, 
blundering  in  execution,  and  ineffectual  in  results. 
Nevertheless,  it  supplied  Napoleon  III  with  just 
what  he  had  sought.  He  extracted  from  it  large 
quantities  of  gloire.  Marshal's  batons  and  mili- 
tary promotions,  tlie  parade  of  returning  troops, 
the  assembling  at  Paris  of  the  European  envoys 
who  were  to  agree  on  a  treaty  of  peace,  —  what 
did  all  this  show  but  that  Europe  had  accepted 


64  THRONE-MAKERS 

Napoleon  III  at  his  own  valuation  ?  In  Russia's 
wilderness  of  snow  the  great  Napoleon  had  been 
ruined ;  now  his  nephew  posed  as  the  humbler  of 
Russia.  The  great  Napoleon  had  been  finally 
crushed  by  England  :  now  his  nephew  had  enticed 
good,  pious  England  into  an  alliance,  and  thereby 
he  had  surely  avenged  his  uncle.  The  last  Euro- 
pean compact,  humiliating  to  France,  had  been 
signed  at  Vienna:  the  new  compact,  signed  at 
Paris,  bore  witness  to  the  supremacy  of  France. 

That  year  1856  marks  the  acme  of  Napoleon  the 
Third's  career.  It  saw  him  the  recognized  arbiter 
of  Europe.  The  world,  which  worships  success, 
forgot  that  the  suave,  impassive  master  of  the 
Tuileries  had  been  Louis  the  Ridiculed,  a  political 
vagabond  and  hapless  pretender,  only  ten  years 
before.  Now,  as  arbiter,  he  would  meddle  when 
he  chose,  and  the  world  should  not  gainsay  him. 
Moreover,  he  believed  his  power  so  secure  that  he 
was  willing  to  forgive  those  whom  he  had  injured. 
He  had  gained  what  he  wanted:  why,  therefore, 
should  they  reject  his  amnesty  ? 

Unscrupulously  selfish  till  he  had  attained  his 
ends,  Napoleon  III  had,  nevertheless,  curious 
streaks  of  disinterestedness  in  his  nature.  What 
but  Quixotism  impelled  him  to  promise  to  free 
Italy  from  her  bondage  to  Austria?  He  might 
add  thereby  to  his  personal  renown,  but  the  French 


NAPOLEON   III  G5 

people,  who  must  pay  the  bills  and  furnish  the 
soldiers,  were  offered  no  adequate  compensation. 
Whatever  his  motives,  he  crossed  the  Alps  in 
the  spring  of  1859,  joined  the  Piedmontese,  and 
defeated  the  Austi-ians  in  two  great  battles.  But 
after  Solferino  he  paused,  grew  anxious,  and 
drew  back.  Many  reasons  were  hinted  at :  he 
had  been  horrified  at  the  sight  of  twelve  thousand 
corpses  festering  in  the  midsummer  heat  on  the 
battlefield  ;  he  perceived  that  the  campaign  must 
last  many  months  before  the  Austrians  could  be 
dislodged  from  the  Quadrilateral ;  he  dreaded  to 
create  in  Italy  a  kingdom  strong  enough  to  be  a 
menace  to  France  ;  he  was  worried  at  the  mobiliza- 
tion of  the  Prussian  army,  foreboding  a  war  on  the 
Rhine.  Motives  are  usually  com2)osite :  perhaps, 
therefore,  all  these,  and  others,  made  him  resolve 
to  quit  Italy  with  his  mission  only  half  achieved. 
But  of  all  his  schemes,  that  Italian  expedition  has 
alone  escaped  the  condemnation  of  posterity.. 

Possessing  a  great  talent  for  scenic  display, 
Napoleon  dressed  his  victories  so  as  to  get  the 
fullest  spectacular  effect  from  them.  He  could 
pose  now  as  the  conqueror  of  Austria,  and  offset 
the  gloire  of  his  uncle's  Marengo  with  that  of  liis 
own  Magenta.  He  had  more  hatons  and  duke- 
doms to  bestow,  —  more  trophies  to  deposit  in  the 
Invalides.     The  gazettes,  the  official  historians,  the 


66  THRONE-MAKERS 

court  writers,  the  spell-bound  populace,  acclaimed 
the  new  triumphs.  Europe  became  too  small  for 
Imperial  France  to  swagger  in.  Napoleon  the 
First  had  meddled  in  Egypt,  and  Palestine,  and 
the  West  Indies  ;  his  nephew  must  do  likewise, 
and  seek  new  worlds  to  conquer  over  sea. 

Already,  however,  sober  observers  noted  other 
symptoms,  and  soon  the  list  of  Imperial  reverses 
grew  ominously  long.  Early  in  1860,  Central 
Italy  became  a  part  of  Victor  Emanuel's  kingdom : 
Napoleon  had  insisted  that  it  should  form  a  new 
state  for  his  cousin  Plon-Plon.  That  autumn, 
Sicily  and  Naples  united  themselves  to  Italy :  Na- 
poleon had  wished  and  schemed  otherwise.  That 
same  year,  too,  England  compelled  him  to  re- 
nounce his  protectorate  over  Syria.  Then  he 
planned  a  French  empire  in  Mexico ;  sent  French 
troops  over  under  Bazaine ;  set  up  Maximilian, 
who  appeared  to  have  grafted  Napoleonism  on  our 
continent.  But  in  1867  he  recalled  his  army,  — 
"  spontaneously "  as  he  said.  The  world  smiled 
when  it  reflected  that  the  spontaneity  of  his  with- 
drawal had  been  superinduced  by  a  curt  message 
from  the  United  States  and  the  massing  of  United 
States  troops  on  the  Rio  Grande.  In  1864  he 
would  have  kept  Prussia  and  Austria  from  rob- 
bing Denmark ;  but  as  he  had  only  words  to  risk, 
they   heeded   him   not.     In    1866,  when   Prussia 


NAPOLEON   III  67 

and  Austria  went  to  war,  expecting  that  Austria 
would  be  the  victor,  he  had  arranged  to  take  a 
slice  of  Rhineland  while  Austria  took  Silesia. 
But  Prussia  was  victorious,  and  so  quickly  that 
Napoleon  could  not  save  his  reputation  even  as 
mediator. 

At  last  Europe  realized  that  his  nod  was  not 
omnipotent,  —  that  Prussia,  his  enemy,  could  raise 
herself  to  a  power  of  the  first  rank,  not  only  with- 
out but  against  his  sanction.  Napoleon  also  real- 
ized that  his  prestige  was  tottering.  He  must  have 
some  compensation  for  Prussia's  aggrandizement. 
But  when  he  asked  for  a  strip  of  Rhineland,  Bis- 
marck replied  :  "  I  will  never  cede  an  inch  of  Ger- 
man soil."  Napoleon,  not  ready  for  war,  cast  about 
for  some  other  screen  to  his  humiliation  ;  for  even 
in  his  legislature  men  now  dared  to  taunt  him  with 
allowing  Germany  to  grow  perilously  strong.  To 
this  taunt  one  of  the  Imperial  spokesmen  retorted, 
"  Germany  is  divided  into  three  fragments,  which 
will  never  come  together."  A  day  or  two  later 
Bismarck  published  the  secret  treaties  by  which 
North  and  South  Germany  had  bound  themselves 
to  su})port  each  other  in  case  of  attack. 

Thus  thwarted,  Najjoleon  schemed  to  buy  the 
tiny  grandduchy  of  Luxemburg,  which  had  long 
been  garrisoned  by  Prussian  trooj)s.  The  King  of 
Holland,  who  owned  it,  agreed  to  sell  it  for  ninety 


68  THRONE-MAKERS 

million  francs.  Europe  was  willing,  but  Bismarck 
said  no.  He  would  consent  to  withdraw  his  troops, 
to  destroy  the  fortifications,  and  to  convert  Luxem- 
burg into  a  neutral  state ;  more  than  that  he  would 
not  allow.  And  with  that  Napoleon  had  to  con- 
tent himself,  and  to  persuade  the  French  —  as  best 
he  could  —  that  he  had  frightened  the  Prussians 
out  of  the  grandduchy. 

In  1863  Bismarck  said  to  a  friend :  "  From  a 
distance,  the  French  Empire  seems  to  be  some- 
thing ;  near  by,  it  is  nothing."  About  the  same 
time  Napoleon,  who  had  had  much  friendly  inter- 
course with  the  Prussian  statesman,  said  :  "  M.  de 
Bismarck  is  not  a  serious  man." 

Just  as  the  Luxemburg  affair  was  concluded,  all 
the  world  went  to  Paris  to  attend  the  Exposition, 
which  was  intended  to  be,  and  seemed,  a  symbol  of 
the  permanence  of  the  Second  Empire.  The  pro- 
jectors knew  that  the  immense  preparations  would 
enable  the  government  to  employ  many  workmen, 
who  might  otherwise  be  unruly,  and  that  the  vast 
concourse  of  visitors  would  bring  money  to  the 
tradespeople  and  keep  them  from  grvimbling.  The 
ostensible  purpose,  however,  was  to  dazzle  both 
Frenchmen  and  strangers  by  a  view  of  Imperial 
magnificence  ;  and  it  was  fully  achieved. 

Paris  herself,  the  Phryne  among  cities,  aston- 
ished those  who  had  never  seen  her,  or  who  had 


NAPOLEON   m  69 

seen  her  in  old  clays.  Where,  they  asked,  were 
the  narrow,  crooked  streets,  in  which  barricaders 
once  fortified  themselves  ?  Were  these  boulevards, 
stretching  broad  and  straight,  —  were  these  they  ? 
And  by  what  magic  had  the  old,  irregular  dwell- 
ings been  transformed  into  miles  of  tall,  stately 
blocks  ?  New  churches,  new  quays,  new  parks, 
new  palaces,  bearing  the  impress  of  grace,  sym- 
metry, and  a  unifying  planner,  excited  the  wonder 
of  the  cosmopolitan  throng  of  visitors.  But  the 
products  of  industry,  the  triumphs  of  the  arts  of 
peace,  were  not  allowed  to  obscure  the  military 
glories  of  the  Second  Empire.  A  "  Bridge  of  the 
Alma  "  and  a  "  Boulevard  of  Sebastopol "  kept 
the  Crimean  prowess  in  memory ;  a  "  Solferino 
Bridge  "  and  a  "  Magenta  Boulevard  "  bore  wit- 
ness to  the  Italian  triumphs.  And  there  were 
pageants,  military,  courtly,  artistic  ;  balls,  at  which, 
among  the  picked  beauties  of  the  world,  the  Em- 
press Eugenie  shone  most  beautiful ;  banquets,  at 
which  Napoleon  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table,  with 
monarcbs  at  his  right  hand  and  his  left  deferen- 
tially listening.  Little  did  the  on-lookers  suppose 
that  the  master  of  those  magnificent  revels  had 
been  lately  frustrated  by  M.  de  Bismarck,  who  was 
merely  one  of  the  million  whose  presence  in  Paris 
seemed  a  tribute  to  Napoleon's  supremacy. 

History,  it  is  said,   never  repeats :    but   is  the 


70  THRONE-MAKERS 

saying  true  ?  Is  there  not  an  old,  old  story  of 
Belsbazzar  and  the  magnificent  feast  he  gave  in 
ancient  Babylon,  and  the  mysterious  writing  on 
the  wall  ?  And  was  not  another  Belshazzar  repeat- 
ing the  episode  in  this  modern  Babylon  less  than 
thirty  years  ago  ?  However  that  may  be,  the  Ex- 
hibition of  1867  was  the  last  triumph  of  Imperial 
France. 

Imperialism  had  made  a  great  show,  reprodu- 
cing, so  far  as  it  could,  the  glamour  of  the  First 
Empire.  Judge  how  potent  that  First  Empire 
must  have  been,  when  mere  imitation  of  it  could 
thus  hypnotize  France  and  delude  Europe !  But 
Imperialism,  generated  by  a  crime  and  vitalized  Dy 
corruption  and  deceit,  was  not  all  France.  Hon- 
est France,  excluded  in  the  beginning,  could  not, 
would  not,  be  lured  in  later.  Napoleon  would  have 
conciliated,  but  the  men  whom  he  needed  to  con- 
ciliate would  not  even  parley.  To  offset  Victor 
Hugo  and  patriots  of  his  rigid  defiance,  the  Em- 
peror had  the  outward  acquiescence  of  Prosper 
Merimee,  the  worldly  courtier ;  of  Alfred  de  Mus- 
set,  the  weak-willed,  debauched  poet ;  and  of  such 
as  they.  But  he  had  the  conscience  of  France 
against  him  ;  to  offset  that  he  leagued  himself 
with  Jesuits  and  Clericals.  Having  exhausted 
the  expedients  of  force,  he  had  tried  the  arts  of 
flattery ;  he  had  intimidated,  he  had  blandished ; 


NAPOLEON   m  71 

he  had  made  vice  easy  and  attractive,  in  order  that, 
though  he  could  not  win  over  the  stubborn  to  his 
cause,  their  character  might  be  softened  through 
vohiptuousness.  Whosoever  coukl  be  corrupted  — 
let  us  give  him  fidl  credit  —  he  did  corrupt  in 
masterful  fashion  ;  but  conscience,  in  France  as 
elsewhere,  is  incorruptible. 

Despite  his  complicated  machinery  for  gagging 
conscience,  protests  began  to  be  made  boldly.  One 
such  protest,  uttered  towards  the  end  of  1868,  rang 
throughout  France  ;  and  well  it  might,  so  auda- 
cious was  the  eloquence  of  the  protester.  Several 
newspapers  had  opened  a  subscription  for  a  monu- 
ment to  Baudin,  a  Republican  killed  in  the  coup 
d'etat.  The  proprietors  of  these  newspapers  were 
arrested.  One  of  them,  Delescluze,  had  for  his 
advocate  Leon  Gambetta,  a  vehement  young  law- 
yer from  the  South.  Before  the  judge,  and  the 
prosecuting  attorneys,  and  the  police  —  all  myrmi- 
dons of  the  Emperor  —  he  arraigned  the  Empire, 
closing  with  these  words  :  "  Here  for  seventeen 
years  you  have  been  absolute  masters  —  '  masters 
at  discretion,'  it  is  your  phrase  —  of  France.  Well, 
you  have  never  dared  to  say,  '  We  will  celebrate 
—  we  will  include  among  the  solemn  festivals  of 
France  —  the  Second  of  December  as  a  national 
anniversary !  And  yet  all  the  governments  which 
have  succeeded  each  other  in  the  land  have  hon- 


72  THRONE-MAKERS 

ored  the  day  of  their  birth ;  there  are  but  two 
anniversaries  —  the  18th  Brumaire  and  the  2d 
of  December  —  which  have  never  been  put  among 
the  solemnities  of  origin,  because  you  know  that, 
if  you  dared  to  put  these,  the  universal  conscience 
would  disavow  them  !  "  Gambetta's  invective  did 
not  save  his  client  from  prison,  but  his  arraign- 
ment of  the  Empire  echoed  throughout  France. 

And  all  the  next  year,  1869,  though  Imperialism 
abated  in  language  none  of  its  pretensions,  it 
showed  in  deeds  many  signs  of  nervousness.  No 
longer  did  it  think  it  prudent,  for  instance,  to  abet 
the  enormous  extravagances  of  Hausmann,  the  re- 
modeler  of  Paris.  It  even  talked  Liberalism,  and 
set  up  a  seeming  Liberal  Cabinet,  with  Ollivier  at 
its  head.  "  All  the  reform  you  may  give  us,  we 
accept,"  said  Gambetta  bluntly ;  "  and  we  may 
possibly  force  you  to  yield  more  than  you  intend ; 
but  all  you  give,  and  all  we  take,  we  shall  simply 
use  as  a  bridge  to  carry  us  over  to  another  form 
of  government."  Evidently  the  conscience  of 
France,  expressing  itself  through  the  Republican 
spokesman,  could  not  be  placated  or  seduced. 

A  still  blacker  omen  ushered  in  1870.  Pierre 
Bonaparte,  the  Emperor's  cousin,  shot  in  cold  blood 
a  journalist,  Victor  Noir.  Two  hundred  thousand 
persons  followed  the  victim's  hearse  ;  two  hundred 
thousand  voices  shouted   through   the   streets   of 


NAPOLEON   in  73 

Paris,  "  Vengeance  !  Down  with  the  Empire  ! 
Long  live  the  Republic !  "  In  April  the  ministers 
proposed  further  reforms,  and  called  for  another 
plebiscite,  that  worn-out  Napoleonic  device  for  de- 
ceiving public  opinion.  Seven  and  a  third  million 
votes  were  dutifully  registered  for  the  Empire, 
and  only  a  million  and  a  half  against  it ;  but 
the  Imperialists  did  not  exult,  —  a  majority  of 
voters  in  Paris,  and  forty-six  thousand  soldiers, 
had  voted  no. 

To  be  deserted  by  the  Parisians,  on  whom  Napo- 
leon had  lavished  so  much  pomp,  —  that,  indeed, 
was  hard ;  but  the  disaffection  in  the  army  meant 
danger.  One  desperate  remedy  remained,  —  a  for- 
eign war.  Victory  would  bring  to  Imperialism 
sufficient  prestige  to  postpone  for  several  years  the 
impending  collapse  ;  meanwhile,  public  attention 
would  be  diverted  from  grievances  at  home. 

Nemesis  saw  to  it  that  rogues  thus  minded 
should  not  lack  opportunity.  The  Spaniards 
having  elected  an  obscure  German  prince  to  be 
their  king,  the  French  ministers  announced  that 
they  would  never  suffer  him  to  reign.  Of  his  own 
motion,  the  German  prince  declined  the  election, 
but  the  French  were  not  appeased.  They  wouhl 
humble  the  King  of  Prussia  by  forcing  from  him 
a  meek  promise.  King  William  refused  to  be  bul- 
lied ;  the  French  ministers  j)roclaimed  that  France 


74  THEONE-MAKERS 

had  been  Insulted.  Not  Imperialists  only,  but 
Frenchmen  of  all  parties  clamored  for  satisfaction. 
That  love  of  gloire^  that  mercurial  vanity  which, 
twenty  years  before,  had  made  them  an  easy  prey 
to  Louis  Napoleon,  now  made  them  abettors  of  his 
breakneck  venture.  He  appealed  to  their  patriot- 
ism, the  last  refuge  of  a  scoundrel,  and  they  were 
beguiled. 

War  came,  the  Emperor  being,  by  common  re- 
port, most  reluctant  to  consent  to  its  declaration. 
He  was  its  first  victim.  Five  weeks  after  taking 
the  field,  he  surrendered  with  nearly  one  hundred 
and  ninety  thousand  men  at  Sedan.  The  corrup- 
tion which  through  twenty  years  he  had  fostered, 
in  all  parts  of  the  state  where  he  expected  to  profit 
by  it,  had  gangrened  the  army  also,  that  branch 
which  a  military  tyrant  needs  to  have  honestly  ad- 
ministered. And  now  in  his  need  the  army  failed 
him.  He  had  been  caught,  as  every  one  is  caught 
who  imagines  that  he  can  be  wicked  with  impunity 
and  still  keep  virtue  for  an  ally  when  he  needs 
her.  From  top  to  bottom  his  war  department  was 
rotten.  Conscripts  had,  by  bribe,  evaded  service  ; 
generals  had  sworn  to  false  muster-rolls  ;  minis- 
ters had  connived  with  dishonest  contractors.  At 
Sedan,  Napoleon  paid  the  penalty  of  the  corrup- 
tion which  he  had  erected  into  a  system  ;  at  Sedan, 
moreover,  he  completed  that  cycle  of  parallels  and 


NAPOLEON   in  75 

imitations  which  he  had  made  the  business  of  his 
life.  Just  as  Prussian  Bliicher  paralyzed  the  last 
rally  of  the  great  Napoleon  at  Waterloo,  so  Prus- 
sian Moltke  achieved  the  ignominy  of  Napoleon 
the  Little  at  Sedan. 

Men  forget,  even  when  they  do  not  forgive. 
Frenchmen,  furious  at  the  humiliation  of  Sedan, 
cursed  Napoleon  as  the  author  of  it.  But  after 
a  quarter  of  a  century,  although  they  have  not 
forgiven  him,  they  have  come  to  look  on  him  as 
victim  rather  than  as  villain.  Later  writers  have 
held  him  up  to  be  pitied.  They  describe  his  long 
years  of  suffering  from  the  stone ;  they  paint  him 
during  that  month  of  August,  1870,  as  a  poor, 
abject  creature  of  circumstances,  driven  to  bay  by 
an  irresistible  foe,  buffeted,  scorned,  despised  by 
his  own  officers  and  troops.  They  show  him  to  us, 
speechless  and  in  agony,  lifted  from  his  horse  at 
Saarbriicken  ;  or  huddled  into  a  third-class  railway 
carriage  with  a  crowd  of  common  soldiers  escap- 
ing from  the  oncoming  Prussians ;  or  sitting,  as 
cheerless  as  a  death's-head,  at  a  council  of  war; 
now  lodged  in  mean  (piarters  ;  now  ])assing  gloom- 
ily down  regiments  on  their  way  to  defeat,  and 
never  a  voice  to  cry  Vive  V Empercur  ;  ever  growing 
more  and  more  haggard  and  nervous  with  worry, 
disaster,  and  endless  cigarettes;  continually  ])cltcd 
with  telegrams  from   Empress   Eugenie  at  Paris, 


76  THRONE-MAKERS 

"  Do  this  —  do  that,  or  the  Empire  is  lost ; "  until 
that  final  early  morning  interview  with  Bismarck 
in  the  weaver's  cottage  at  Donchery.  Latter-day 
Frenchmen,  beholding  such  misery,  have  forgotten 
that  Napoleon  himself  was  chiefly  responsible  for 
it,  and  have  ceased  to  execrate. 

In  closing,  let  us  read,  from  a  letter  Bismarck 
wrote  to  his  wife  the  day  after  the  surrender,  a 
description  of  the  meeting  of  Napoleon  and  his 
conqueror :  — 

"  Vendresse,  Sept.  3,  1870.  Yesterday  morning 
at  five  o'clock,  after  I  had  been  negotiating  until 
one  o'clock,  a.  m.,  with  Moltke  and  the  French 
generals  about  the  capitulation  to  be  concluded,  I 
was  awakened  by  General  Reille,  with  whom  I  am 
acquainted,  to  tell  me  that  Napoleon  wished  to 
speak  with  me.  Unwashed  and  unbreakfasted,  I 
rode  towards  Sedan,  found  the  Emperor  in  an  open 
carriage,  with  three  aides-de-camp  and  three  in  at- 
tendance on  horseback,  halted  on  the  road  before 
Sedan.  I  dismounted,  saluted  him  just  as  politely 
as  at  the  Tuileries,  and  asked  for  his  commands. 
He  wished  to  see  the  King.  I  told  him,  as  the 
truth  was,  that  his  Majesty  had  his  quarters  fif- 
teen miles  away,  at  the  spot  where  I  am  now  writ- 
ing. In  answer  to  Napoleon's  question  where  he 
should  go,  I  offered  him,  as  I  was  not  acquainted 


NAPOLEON  m  77 

with  the  country,  my  own  quarters  at  Donchery,  a 
small  place  in  the  neighborhood,  close  by  Sedan. 
He  accepted  and  drove,  accompanied  by  his  six 
Frenchmen,  by  me  and  by  Carl  (who  in  the  mean 
time  had  ridden  after  me),  through  the  lonely 
morning,  towards  our  lines.  Before  reaching  the 
spot,  he  began  to  be  troubled  on  account  of  the 
possible  crowd,  and  he  asked  me  if  he  could  alight 
in  a  lonely  cottage  by  the  wayside.  I  had  it  in- 
spected by  Carl,  who  brought  word  it  was  mean 
and  dirty.  ''N^importe''  (No  matter),  said  N., 
and  I  ascended  with  him  a  rickety,  narrow  stair- 
case. In  an  apartment  ten  feet  square,  with  a 
deal-table  and  two  rush-bottomed  chairs,  we  sat 
for  an  hour ;  the  others  were  below.  A  powerful 
contrast  with  our  last  meeting  in  the  Tuileries  in 
'67.  Our  conversation  was  difficult,  if  I  wanted 
to  avoid  touching  on  topics  which  could  not  but 
affect  painfully  the  man  whom  God's  mighty  hand 
had  cast  down.  I  had  sent  Carl  to  fetch  officers 
from  the  town,  and  to  beg  Moltke  to  come." 

That  morning  the  terms  of  capitulation  were 
drawn  up,  and  the  next  day  Napoleon  went  a  pris- 
oner to  Wilhelmshohe,  whence,  in  due  time,  he 
was  allowed  to  depart  for  England.  At  Chisle- 
hurst,  on  January  9,  1873,  he  died,  having  lived  to 
see  not  only  the  extinction  of  French  Imperialism 


78  THRONE-MAKERS 

and  of  the  temporal  Papacy,  but  also  the  creation 
of  the  German  Empire  and  the  union  of  Italy. 
To  prevent  all  of  these  things  had  been  his  aim. 

In  a  life  like  Garibaldi's  we  see  what  a  disinter- 
ested genius  can  do  by  appealing  to  men's  noble 
motives  :  the  career  of  Louis  Napoleon  illustrates 
not  less  clearly  what  a  man  with  talents  and  with- 
out scruples  can  accomplish  by  appealing  to  the 
instincts  of  vainglory  and  selfishness  and  terror  ; 
to  the  instinct  which  bullies  weak  nations  and 
hoists  the  flag  where  it  does  not  belong  ;  to  the 
instinct  which  has  not  the  courage  to  acknowledge 
an  error,  but  is  quick  to  impute  injuries,  and 
declares  that  there  shall  be  one  conscience  for  poli- 
ticians and  another  for  citizens.  Let  us  not  flatter 
ourselves  that  only  the  French  have  cherished 
these  stupendous  delusions ;  let  us  rather  take 
warning  by  the  retribution  exacted  from  them. 

"  Forgetful  is  green  earth  :  the  Gods  alone 
Remember  everlastingly  ;  they  strike 
Remorselessly,  and  ever  like  for  like. 
By  their  great  memories  the  Gods  are  known." 


KOSSUTH 

The  history  of  Hungary  is  in  this  respect 
unique :  it  records  the  career  of  an  alien  tribe 
which,  cutting  its  way  from  Eastern  Asia  to  the 
heart  of  Europe,  founded  there  a  nation,  and  this 
nation,  after  the  friction  of  a  thousand  years,  still 
preserves  its  racial  characteristics.  In  894  Duke 
Arpad  led  his  horde  of  Magyars  —  whose  earlier 
kinsmen  were  Huns  and  Avars  —  up  the  valley  of 
the  Danube.  Long  were  they  a  terror  to  Europe  ; 
then,  gradually,  they  had  to  content  themselves 
with  Hungary  as  their  home.  They  became  Chris- 
tians ;  they  adopted  a  monarchical  government ; 
alongside  of  their  Aryan  neighbors,  they  took  on 
medisival  civilization.  Europe,  unable  to  expel 
or  to  destroy,  acknowledged  them  as  citizens.  The 
time  came  when  the  Magyars,  in  a  conflict  lasting 
fivescore  years,  defended  Euro])e  against  the  in- 
vasion of  another  horde  of  Asiatic  barbarians ; 
till,  unsupported  by  tlieir  neighbors,  the  Magyars 
succumbed  to  the  Turks  in  the  battle  of  Moluics 
in  1526.  Afterwards,  for  one  hundred  and  fifty 
years,   Hungary  herself  writhed  in   the  hands  of 


80  THRONE-MAKEKS 

the  Mussulman ;  when  that  bondage  ceased,  she 
had  a  different  oppressor,  —  Austria. 

The  Hungarian  monarchy  was  elective,  and 
after  the  battle  of  Mohacs  the  Magyars  chose  for 
their  king  the  sovereign  of  the  Austrian  states. 
The  succession  continued  in  the  House  of  Haps- 
burg,  becoming  in  fact  hereditary ;  but,  before 
the  Magyars  accepted  him  as  king,  each  Haps- 
burg  candidate  must  be  ratified  by  the  Hungarian 
Diet,  and  must  swear  to  uphold  the  Hungarian 
Constitution.  When,  however,  the  expulsion  of 
the  Turks,  at  the  end  of  the  seventeenth  century, 
left  the  Austrian  sovereigns  free  to  exercise  their 
authority,  they  set  about  curtailing  the  ancient 
liberties  of  Hungary.  Throughout  the  eighteenth 
century  that  process  went  on  :  the  Magyars  pro- 
tested ;  the  Emperor-King  encroached,  or,  when 
the  protests  thi-eatened  to  pass  into  insurrection, 
he  paused  for  a  while  and  gave  fair  promises. 

Such  was  the  situation  when  the  French  Eevo- 
tion,  followed  by  Napoleon's  colossal  ambition, 
startled  Europe.  During  the  quarter  century  of 
upheaval,  the  Magyars,  still  pouring  their  griev- 
ances into  Vienna,  remained  loyal  to  their  King. 
After  Napoleon's  downfall,  the  Old  Regime  being 
firmly  reestablished.  Emperor  Francis  not  only 
failed  to  keep  his  promises  towards  Hungary,  but 
revived  the  old  policy  of  Austrianization,  which 


KOSSUTH  81 

meant  the  substitution  of  German  for  Magyar 
officials,  and  the  removal  of  the  chief  branches  of 
government  to  Vienna.  Again  the  protests  became 
angry,  until  Francis,  baffled  and  alarmed,  con- 
vened the  Diet.  With  the  year  1825,  when  that 
Diet  met,  began  the  modern  struggle  of  Hungary 
to  recover  that  home  rule  which  one  after  another 
of  her  Hapsburg  kings  had  solemnly  sworn  to 
respect,  and  had  as  perfidiously  disregarded. 
Thus  the  seed  of  the  Magyar  revolution  was  sown, 
like  that  of  so  many  others,  in  a  demand  for  the 
restoration  of  acknowledged  rights,  and  not  in  a 
demand  for  innovation.  Home  rule,  —  Hungary 
to  govern  herself,  instead  of  being  bullied  by 
foreigners  who  happened  to  be  also  subjects  of 
her  Emperor-King,  —  that  seemed  an  object  as 
simple  and  definite  as  it  was  just.  Experience 
soon  showed,  however,  that  this  cause  was  not  sim- 
ple ;  that  it  no  more  could  be  attained  alone  than 
gold  can  be  taken  from  quartz  without  crushing 
the  quartz  and  separating  the  silver  and  lead,  and 
the  crushed  quartz  itself,  from  the  desired  gold. 
For  Hungary  was  imbedded  in  an  old  civilization, 
which  must  be  broken  up  before  home  rule,  and 
many  another  modern  ideal,  could  be  attained. 

Imagine  a  country  having  an  area  about  as 
large  as  the  State  of  Colorado,  inhabited  by  people 
sprung  from  four  different  races,  —  the  Magyar, 


82  THRONE-MAKERS 

the  Slav,  the  German,  and  the  Italian  :  imagine, 
further,  these  races  subdivided  into  eight  different 
peoples,  —  Magyars,  having  poor  kinsmen  called 
Szeklers ;  Slavs,  sending  forth  four  different 
shoots,  Slovaks  in  the  North,  Croats  in  the  South- 
west, Serbs  in  the  South,  and  Wallachs  in  the 
East;  imagine  this  motley  population  holding 
various  creeds,  —  Roman  Catholic,  Greek  Catholic, 
Calvinist,  Lutheran,  and  Unitarian :  imagine  not 
merely  each  race,  but  each  people,  cherishing  its 
own  language,  its  own  customs,  its  own  ambitions, 
which  inevitably  clashed  with  those  of  its  neigh- 
bors :  and  having  imagined  all  this,  you  have  not 
yet  come  to  the  end  of  Hungary's  complex  organ- 
ism. Beside  the  conflicts  of  race  and  creed,  there 
were  political  and  social  complications. 

The  dominant  race  was  the  Magyars,  who  num- 
bered, however,  only  a  third  of  the  total  popula- 
tion ;  their  prevailing  system  was  the  feudal.  A 
few  hundred  great  nobles,  or  magnates,  a  consid- 
erable body  of  small  nobles  and  a  multitude  of 
artisans,  tradesmen,  and  peasants  made  up  the 
social  strata.  Every  Magyar  who  could  trace 
descent  to  Arpad  and  his  followers  —  though  he 
were  but  a  peasant  in  condition  —  was  a  noble : 
members  of  all  the  other  races  had  no  political 
rights.  Hungary  proper  comprised  fifty-two  coun- 
ties, each  of    which  had  its  local  congregation  or 


KOSSUTH  83 

assembly,  which  met  four  times  a  year,  and  sent 
suggestions  or  bills  of  grievances  to  the  Central 
Diet,  composed  of  the  Table  of  Magnates  and 
the  Table  of  Deputies.  A  Palatine  or  Viceroy, 
representing  the  Sovereign,  was  the  actual  head  of 
the  kingdom.  Outside  of  Hungary  proper,  the 
Croats  had  their  local  Diet  at  Agram,  and  Tran- 
sylvania had  hers  ;  both  also  chose  representatives 
to  the  Hungarian  Diet.  In  a  measure,  therefore, 
■we  may  call  Hungary  a  federation,  not  forgetting, 
however,  that  it  was  a  federation  in  which  one 
race,  the  Magyars,  domineered.  The  Latin  lan- 
guage was  the  common  medium  of  communication 
between  Hungary  and  Austria,  and  among  the 
diverse  peoples. 

The  most  significant  event  of  the  Diet  of  1825 
was  the  use  by  Count  Stephen  Szechenyi  of  the 
Magyar  language  instead  of  the  Latin.  Szechenyi, 
having  traveled  in  Western  Europe,  came  back 
imbued  with  large  schemes  of  progress.  He  helped 
to  introduce  steamboats  on  the  Danube ;  he  founded 
a  Magyar  Academy ;  he  proposed  to  join  Buda 
and  Pesth  by  a  suspension  bridge.  By  stimulating 
the  material  welfare  of  his  country,  he  hoped 
that  many  of  the  social  abuses  would  vanish  with- 
out a  struggle.  And  now  his  use  of  the  Magyar 
language  was  a  symptom  of  the  awakening  of 
the  spirit  of  nationality,  —  one  of  the  controlling 


84  THRONE-MAKERS 

motives  in  the  history  of  Europe  during  the  nine- 
teenth century.  In  Hungary,  as  elsewhere,  the 
arousing  of  that  spirit  was  evidenced  not  only  by 
an  intenser  political  life,  but  also  by  a  literary 
revival. 

In  direct  reforms  the  Diet  of  1825  accom- 
plished little,  —  the  Austrian  government  being 
still  adroit  in  postponing  a  settlement,  —  but  it  was 
important  in  so  far  as  it  revealed  the  presence  of 
new  forces,  whose  nature  was  as  yet  undetei-mined. 
By  the  time  another  Diet  assembled,  in  1832,  sev- 
eral questions  had  taken  a  definite  shape.  Fore- 
most, of  course,  was  Hungary's  demand  of  home 
rule,  in  which  all  Magyars  stood  side  by  side  ;  but 
when  it  came  to  internal  affairs,  they  inevitably 
disagreed.  The  advanced  Liberals  proposed  to 
emancipate  the  serfs,  to  extend  the  suffrage,  and 
to  abolish  many  of  the  privileges  of  the  aristo- 
cracy. How  grievous  was  the  condition  of  the 
Hungarian  serf  may  be  inferred  from  the  fact 
that,  in  spite  of  an  improvement  decreed  by  Maria 
Theresa,  he  was  still  bound  to  contribute  to  his 
landlord  the  equivalent  of  more  than  one  hundred 
days'  labor  a  year ;  he  had  no  civic  rights,  and  no 
other  chance  of  redress  than  in  the  manorial  court 
presided  over  by  his  master.  The  nobles,  on  the 
other  hand,  paid  no  taxes,  ruled  the  county  assem- 
blies, appointed  magistrates,  and,  except  in  case  of 


KOSSUTH  85 

a  foreign  invasion,  rendered  no  military  service,  in 
return  for  all  their  exorbitant  immunities. 

That  Magyar  aristocracy  has  played  so  promi- 
nent a  part  in  the  history  of  Hungary  that  we  may 
pause  a  moment  to  describe  it.  In  1830  the  Mag- 
yar magnate  was  still  the  most  picturesque  noble 
in  Europe.  Like  the  Spanish  grandee  and  the 
Venetian  senator  of  an  earlier  time,  he  represented 
one  of  the  highest  expressions  of  the  privileged 
classes.  He  was  haughty,  but  warm-hearted  ;  emo- 
tional, but  brave :  appeal  to  his  honor,  to  his 
magnanimity,  and  —  as  Maria  Theresa  found  —  he 
would  forget  his  grievances,  disregard  his  interests, 
and  devote  himself  body  and  soul  to  your  cause. 
He  might  be  ignorant,  a  spendthrift,  an  exacting 
master,  but  in  his  capacity  for  generosity  he  was 
—  by  whatever  standard  —  truly  a  noble.  In  old 
times  his  forefathers  had  assembled  every  year,  or 
when  an  emergency  required,  on  the  plain  of 
Rakos, — a  host  of  gallant  warriors,  in  brilliant 
armor  and  gorgeous  cloaks  and  trappings.  There 
they  deliberated  —  perhaps  chose  a  king  or  deposed 
one  —  and  then  each  rode  home  with  his  retinue, 
to  live  in  a  splendor  half-barbaric  for  another 
year.  In  his  dress  the  Magyar  had  an  Oriental 
love  of  color,  and  in  his  music  there  is  a  similar 
glow,  a  similar  charm. 

As  late   as   1840  both  the   magnates   and    tlie 


86  THRONE-MAKERS 

lesser  nobility  clung  to  their  national  costume  as 
loyally  as  to  their  national  constitution.  "  It  now 
consists  of  the  attilla,^''  writes  Paget  at  that  date, 
"  a  frock  coat,  reaching  nearly  to  the  knee,  with  a 
military  collar,  and  covered  in  front  with  gold 
lace ;  over  this  is  generally  worn,  hanging  loosely 
on  one  shoulder,  the  mente,  a  somewhat  larger 
coat,  lined  with  fur,  and  with  a  fur  cape.  It  is 
generally  suspended  by  some  massive  jeweled 
chain.  The  tight  pantaloons  and  ankle-boots,  with 
the  never-failing  spurs,  form  the  lower  part.  The 
haljiak^  or  fur  cap,  is  of  innumei-able  forms,  and 
ornamented  by  a  feather  fastened  by  a  rich  brooch. 
The  white  heron's  plume,  or  aigrette,  the  rare 
product  of  the  Southern  Danube,  is  the  most 
esteemed.  The  neck  is  opened,  except  for  a  black 
ribbon  loosely  passed  round  it,  the  ends  of  which 
are  finished  with  gold  fringe.  The  sabre  is  in  the 
shape  of  the  Turkish  scimitar;  indeed,  richly  orna- 
mented Damascus  blades,  the  spoils  of  some  unsuc- 
cessful Moslem  invasion,  are  very  often  worn,  and 
are  highly  prized. 

"  The  sword-belt  is  frequently  a  heavy  gold 
chain,  such  as  our  ancient  knights  wore  over  their 
armor.  The  colors,  as  in  many  respects  the  form, 
of  the  Hungarian  uniform,  depend  entirely  on  the 
taste  of  the  individual,  and  vary  from  the  simple 
blue  dress  of  the  hussar,  with  white  cotton  lace,  to 


KOSSUTH  87 

the  rich  stuffs,  covered  with  pearls  and  diamonds, 
of  the  Prince  Esterhazy. 

"  On  the  whole,  I  know  of  no  dress  so  hand- 
some, so  manly,  and  at  the  same  time  so  con- 
venient. It  is  only  on  gala  days  that  gay  and 
embroidered  dresses  are  used  ;  on  ordinary  occa- 
sions, as  sittings  of  the  Diet,  county  meetings,  and 
others  in  which  it  is  customary  to  wear  uniform, 
dark  colors  with  black  silk  lace,  and  trousers,  or 
Hessian  boots,  are  commonly  used."  ^ 

Such,  in  its  dress,  was  the  Magyar  aristocracy 
which  the  reformers  set  themselves  to  overcome  ; 
and  in  their  character  those  Magyar  nobles  — 
were  they  magnates  or  simply  gentlemen  —  cher- 
ished a  tenacity  of  class  unsurpassed  by  any  other 
aristocrats  in  Europe.  Nevertheless,  the  reform- 
ers boldly  put  forth  a  programme  which  involved 
the  complete  social  and  political  reorganization 
of  the  country,  —  even  throwing  down  a  challenge 
to  the  aristocracy  to  surrender  privileges  in  which 
these  deemed  their  very  existence  rooted.  Parties 
had  begun  to  array  themselves  on  these  lines 
when  Louis  Kossuth  entered  public  life. 

Bom  at  the  village  of  Monok,  Zemplen  County, 
on  April  27,  1802,  Kossuth  had  for  his  father  a 
lesser  noble,  Slavic  in  origin,  Lutheran  in  faith, 

'  John  Paget,  Hungary  and  Transylvania  (new  edition,  New 
York,  1850),  i,  249,  250, 


88  THRONE-MAKERS 

and  lawyer  by  jirofesslon.  The  son  received  a 
good  education,  and  began  to  practice  law,  which 
led  easily  to  politics.  He  sat  in  his  county  assem- 
bly, was  early  conspicuous  as  an  advocate  of  pop- 
ular rights  and  as  an  eloquent  speaker.  Thus 
equipped,  he  took  his  seat  in  the  Diet  of  1832, 
where,  as  proxy  to  a  magnate,  he  had  a  voice 
but  no  vote.  There  seemed  slight  chance  of  his 
emerging  from  his  proxy's  obscurity,  but  to  gen- 
ius all  conditions  are  fluid.  Kossuth  conceived 
the  plan  of  publishing  the  reports  of  the  debates 
in  the  Diet.  The  government  permitted  no  news- 
papers, and  trimmed  all  other  publications  to  suit 
its  views  ;  but  the  members  of  both  Houses  could 
speak  freely,  without  danger  of  arrest  for  any  of 
their  utterances  in  the  Diet.  To  circulate  their 
speeches  would,  therefore,  as  Kossuth  saw,  put 
within  reach  of  the  Hungarians  a  mass  of  political 
reading  not  otherwise  obtainable.  Hardly  had  he 
begun  to  publish,  ere  government  signified  its 
desire  of  buying  his  press.  Deprived  of  this,  he 
employed  secretai*ies  who  wrote  out  his  abstracts 
of  the  proceedings  and  sent  them  through  the 
mails  to  their  destination.  Government  ordered 
its  postmen  to  confiscate  and  destroy.  Still  un- 
vanquished,  Kossuth  dispatched  his  budgets  by 
special  messengers.  Government  was  foiled.  By 
these  devices,  before  the  close  of  the  Diet  in  183G, 


KOSSUTH  89 

Kossuth  —  the  obscure  magnate's  proxy  —  had  be- 
come one  of  the  most  widely  known  men  in  the 
kingdom.  The  reports  were  literally  his  reports, 
giving  not  only  the  tenor  of  the  chief  debates,  but 
also  his  comments  thereon. 

He  now  proposed  to  edit  in  similar  fashion  the 
proceedings  of  the  quarterly  meetings  of  the  fifty- 
two  county  assemblies ;  but  Government,  no  longer 
restrained  by  his  inviolability  as  member  of  the 
Diet,  arrested  him.  He  spent  two  years  in  prison, 
denied  books  and  all  intercourse  with  his  friends, 
before  his  case  came  to  trial :  then  he  was  sen- 
tenced to  a  further  confinement  of  four  years, 
during  which  his  great  solace  was  the  study  of 
Shakespeare. 

Meanwhile,  political  and  social  agitation  was 
swelling.  The  King,  thinking  a  European  war 
over  the  Eastern  Question  imminent,  summoned 
another  Diet  to* vote  him  a  fresh  subsidy  and  more 
soldiers.  But  the  Diet,  indignant  and  headstrong, 
refused  all  help  till  Kossuth  and  some  other  po- 
litical prisoners  should  be  released.  The  King 
yielded.     Kossuth  came  forth  a  national  hero. 

After  several  months  spent  in  recuperating  his 
health,  Kossuth,  in  January,  1841,  establislied  the 
I^e.fti  J/irlap,  or  I^enth  Gazette.  That  Govern- 
ment acquiesced  in  this  ])rojcct  showed  how  far 
the  tide  of  Liberalism  had  risen.     It  .showed,  too, 


90  THRONE-MAKERS 

that  Government  was  astute,  —  hoping  in  this  way 
to  rob  Kossuth  of  his  martyr's  halo  ;  deeming  it 
wiser  to  let  him  publish  openly  than  surrepti- 
tiously ;  trusting,  above  all,  to  the  sharpness  of  its 
censors'  eyes  and  scissors.  Kossuth,  on  his  side, 
was  equally  cunning,  versed  in  the  art  of  dressing 
his  opinions  in  such  guise  that  the  censor  could 
not  object  to  them,  though  they  carried  a  meaning 
which  his  readers  knew  how  to  interpret  according 
to  his  intention.  He  wrote  on  all  topics  with  a 
vehemence  and  an  Oriental  heat  which  won  him 
tens  of  thousands  of  admirers.  Like  any  Mag- 
yar patriot,  he  could  count  on  one  of  the  most 
powerful  of  allies,  —  the  race  hatred  between  his 
countrymen  and  the  Austrians.  The  very  word 
"  German  "  signified,  in  the  Magyar  language,  vile^ 
hase,  despicable.  There  was  a  Magyar  proverb  to 
the  effect  that  "  German  is  the  only  language  God 
does  not  understand."  Innumerable  illustrations 
of  this  antipathy  might  be  cited,  but  the  following, 
which  Paget  tells,  will  serve  as  well  as  another  : 
The  proprietor  of  a  theatre  produced  what  he  con- 
sidered a  fine  piece  of  scenery,  in  which  was  repre- 
sented a  full  moon,  with  round,  fat,  clean-shaved 
face.  When  it  rose,  the  audience  hissed,  and 
shouted,  "  Down  with  the  German  moon  !  "  The 
manager  took  the  hint ;  next  night  there  rose 
a  swarthy-cheeked,  black-moustachioed  orb.     Hur- 


KOSSUTH  91 

rahs  burst  from  every  mouth,  and  all  cried,  "  Long 
live  our  own  true  Magyar  moon !  " 

Doubt  not  that  Kossuth  knew  how  to  kindle 
the  fuel  which  ages  of  hatred  had  been  storing. 
He  had  the  gift  peculiar  to  really  great  popular 
leaders  of  appealing  directly  to  racial  pride  and 
passion  ;  so  it  mattered  little  that  he  dealt  in  gen- 
eralizations. Speaking  broadly,  he  preached  the 
abolition  of  feudalism  and  the  aggrandizement  of 
the  Magyar  nationality.  The  former  purpose 
brought  him  and  the  Liberals  into  conflict  with 
the  conservative  aristocracy  ;  the  latter  inflamed 
against  the  Magyars  the  long-smouldering  hatred 
of  their  subject  peoples. 

For  the  spirit  of  nationality  had  awakened  these 
also.  The  Slavs  of  Croatia,  Slavonia,  and  Dalma- 
tia  dreamed  of  establishing  a  great  Slavic  king- 
dom in  Southeastern  Europe ;  they,  too,  were 
putting  forth  a  literature.  Their  Illyrism  —  to 
their  prospective  nation  they  gave  the  name 
"  Illyria  "  —  clashed  with  the  recrudescent  Mag- 
yarism.  When  the  Hungarian  Diet  decreed  that 
the  Magyar  language  should  be  taught  in  their 
schools,  and  that  every  official  must  use  it,  they 
protested  as  strenuously  as  tlie  Magyars  themselves 
had  protested  when  Austria  tried  to  iu)pose  the 
German  language  and  German  officials  on  them. 
"The  Magyars  are  an  island  in  the  Slavic  ocean,'' 


92  THRONE-MAKERS 

exclaimed  Gaj,  the  poet  and  spokesman  of  Illyr- 
ism,  to  the  Hungarian  Diet :  "  I  did  not  make 
this  ocean,  I  did  not  stir  up  its  waves  ;  but  take 
care  that  they  do  not  go  over  your  heads  and 
drown  you."  Nevertheless,  the  law  was  passed. 
In  the  Southland  the  Serbs  along  the  Danube, 
in  the  East  the  Wallachs  of  Transylvania,  feeling 
the  first  tingle  of  national  aspirations,  resented 
this  encroachment.  Austria  —  whose  motto  was, 
Divide  et  impera  —  found  her  advantage  in  em- 
bittering tribe  with  tribe  and  class  with  class. 

For  three  years  and  a  half  Kossuth's  Gazette 
had  an  unprecedented  influence  in  Hungary  ;  but 
in  the  summer  of  1844,  disagreeing  with  his  pub- 
lisher over  a  matter  of  salary,  he  resigned,  and 
expected  to  found  another  journal  which  should 
draw  off  the  Gazette's  patrons.  Government, 
however,  refused  to  grant  him  a  license.  Accord- 
ingly, he  devoted  himself  to  agitation  in  another 
form.  In  the  assembly  of  the  County  of  Pesth, 
he  discussed  with  matchless  eloquence  the  great 
political  questions  ;  outside,  he  organized  an  eco- 
nomical crusade.  Austria  burdened  Hungary  with 
a  tariff  which  stunted  her  industrial  and  com- 
mercial development.  Kossuth  created  a  league 
whose  members  vowed  for  five  years  to  use  only 
Hungarian  products.  He  projected  a  railway  to 
Fiume,  to  secure  an  outlet  for  exporting  Hungar 


KOSSUTH  93 

rian  goods.  He  urged  the  establishment  of  sav- 
ings banks  and  of  mercantile  corporations.  And 
for  a  brief  time,  under  this  patriotic  stimulus, 
trade  flourished. 

Thus  through  all  the  arteries  of  the  body  politic 
new  blood  was  throbbing.  Give  a  people  a  great 
idea,  and  they  will  find  how  to  apply  it  to  every 
concern  of  life.  The  Magyar  Liberals  were  surely 
undermining  feudalism ;  their  race  was  growing 
more  and  more  restive  at  Austria's  obstinate  de- 
lays. When  Austria  removed  the  native  county 
sheriffs  and  put  German  administrators  in  their 
stead,  all  the  Magyar  factions  joined  in  denoun- 
cing such  an  assault  on  their  national  life.  The 
county  system  had  been  the  safeguard  of  Hun- 
gary's political  institutions  for  well-nigh  eight 
hundred  years ;  the  sheriff  was  the  foremost  of- 
ficial in  the  county,  to  whose  guidance  its  interests 
and  civic  activity  were  intrusted.  To  make  an 
alien  sheriff  was  thei-efore  to  check  national  agi- 
tation at  its  source.  Accordingly,  the  Diet  which 
met  in  the  autumn  of  1847  met  full  of  defiance 
and  resentment,  though  the  platform  of  the  Liber- 
als, drawn  up  by  the  judicial  Deak,  wore  on  its 
surface  a  conciliatory  aspect.  After  a  hot  can- 
vass, Kossuth  was  elected  to  represent  Pesth  in 
the  Chamber  of  Deputies.  A  few  sessions  sufficed 
to  establish  his  preeminence  as  an  orator,  and  his 
leadership  of  the  Liberal  party. 


94  TIIRONE-MAKERS 

During  the  winter  months  of  1847-48  but  little 
was  done,  though  much  was  discussed.  As  usual, 
the  Magnates  resisted  the  reforms  aimed  at  their 
class ;  as  usual,  Government  temporized  and  post- 
poned. Suddenly,  at  the  beginning  of  March, 
1848,  news  reached  Presburg  of  the  revolution  in 
Paris,  and  of  the  flight  of  Louis  Philippe.  That 
news  passed  like  a  torch  throughout  Europe,  kin- 
dling as  it  passed  the  fires  of  revolt.  At  Presburg, 
on  March  3,  Kossuth  rose  in  the  Diet  and  inter- 
rupted a  debate  on  the  financial  difficulties  with 
Austria.  That  question  of  finance,  he  said,  could 
never  be  settled  separately ;  in  it  was  involved 
the  whole  question  of  Austria's  disregard  of  Hun- 
gary's rights.  Hungary  must  have  her  own  laws, 
her  own  ministry ;  taxation  must  be  equal ;  the 
franchise  must  be  extended.  More  than  that,  he 
added,  Hungary  could  never  prosper  until  every 
part  of  the  Empire  should  be  governed  by  uniform 
constitutional  methods. 

Kossuth's  "  baptismal  speech  of  the  revolution  " 
took  the  Lower  House  by  storm.  An  address  to 
the  Throne  was  framed,  which,  after  fruitless  re- 
luctance on  the  part  of  the  Magnates,  a  large  com- 
mittee, headed  by  Kossuth  and  Count  Louis  Bat- 
thyanyi,  —  the  Liberal  leader  in  the  Upper  House, 
—  carried  twelve  days  later  to  Vienna.  The  dele- 
gates  found  the   Austrian  capital  in  an  uproar. 


KOSSUTH  95 

On  March  13  Metternich,  deserted  by  the  aris- 
tocracy on  whose  behalf  he  had  labored  unscrupu- 
lously for  fifty  years,  had  been  hounded  from 
office.  The  people,  after  a  bloody  struggle,  had 
possession  of  the  city,  and  they  welcomed  Kossuth 
as  a  deliverer  ;  for  his  "  baptismal  speech  "  had 
made  their  aims  articulate. 

The  next  day,  Emperor  Ferdinand  received  the 
deputation  very  graciously,  and  promised  to  grant 
their  petition.  Exulting,  they  returned  to  Pres- 
burg.  A  Cabinet  was  formed  in  which  Batthy- 
anyi  held  the  premiership,  and  Kossuth  the  port- 
folio of  finance.  Soon,  very  soon,  tremendous 
difficulties  beset  them :  Radicals  clamored  for  a 
republic  ;  the  subject  races  revolted  ;  the  Imperial 
government  proved  perfidious. 

The  key  to  Austria's  subsequent  conduct  is 
this :  Austria,  at  heart  a  coward,  had  long  been 
able  to  play  the  bully ;  now,  however,  her  outraged 
peoples  had  risen  in  wrath  and  held  her  at  their 
mercy ;  the  bully  cringed,  promised,  conceded ; 
concession  brought  a  temporary  respite  from  dan- 
ger ;  thereupon  she  began  to  think  she  had  been 
unduly  terrified  and  to  regret  her  concessions ; 
so  she  cautiously  put  out  feelers  of  arrogance,  to 
resume  her  role  of  bully.  When  she  met  sharp 
resistance,  she  quickly  drew  back  again,  to  await 
a  better  opportunity.     Throughout  this  crisis,  Em- 


96  THRONE-MAKERS 

peror  Ferdinand,  at  his  best  a  man  of  mediocre 
capacity,  was  becoming  imbecile  through  epilepsy, 
and  a  Court  clique,  or  Camarilla,  ruled  him  and 
the  Empire. 

All  this  was  not  yet  clear  to  the  Hungarians. 
Assuming  the  Imperial  assurances  to  be  honest, 
they  passed  a  refox-m  bill  abolishing  the  privileges 
of  the  nobles,  who  were  to  be  compensated  by  the 
state  for  the  loss  they  sustained  in  the  emancipa- 
tion of  their  serfs.  Bills  authorizing  equal  taxa- 
tion, trial  by  jury,  freedom  of  speech,  the  abolition 
of  tithes,  and  the  extension  of  the  franchise  to 
one  million  two  hundred  thousand  voters,  were 
adopted  with  but  little  discussion.  Religious  tol- 
eration —  except  for  Jews  —  became  the  law  of  the 
land. 

The  Magnates  having  made  this  unparalleled 
sacrifice.  King  Ferdinand  came  over  to  Presburg 
and  dissolved  the  Diet  in  a  speech  approving  its 
action,  and  reiterating  his  pledge  to  uphold  the 
Constitution.  The  Cabinet  proceeded  to  organize 
its  administration,  —  a  task  which  would  have  been 
sufficient  at  any  time  to  keep  it  busy,  but  now 
extraordinary  and  urgent  matters  pressed  upon 
it.  The  Wallachs,  Serbs,  and  Croats  rose  in  rebel- 
lion. Most  alarming  was  the  situation  iii  Croatia, 
where  the  Slavs  were  agitating  for  separation  from 
Hungary.     Baron  Jellachich,  who  had  just  been 


KOSSUTH  07 

appointed  Ban  or  Viceroy  o£  Croatia,  abetting  the 
insurrection,  strengthened  the  Croat  army.  In 
June  the  Magyar  ministers  hurried  to  lunspruck 
—  whither  the  Emperor  and  Camarilla  had  fled 
after  a  second  outbreak  in  Vienna  —  to  protest 
against  these  rebellious  acts.  The  Emperor  as- 
sured them  that  he  had  given  the  Ban  no  sanc- 
tion ;  that  he  had,  indeed,  dismissed  him  from  the 
Imperial  service.  It  happened  that  Jellachich  was 
at  Innspruck  at  this  very  moment,  carrying  the 
notification  of  dismissal  in  his  pocket,  and  in  his 
mind  an  unwritten  commission  to  serve  Austria 
against  Hungary. 

The  rebellion  of  the  Serbs,  accompanied  by 
unspeakable  atrocities,  was  openly  fomented  by 
Austrian  agents ;  likewise  the  outbreak  in  Tran- 
sylvania. Hungary's  embarrassments  increased  ; 
she  had  still  to  accept  Ferdinand's  assurances  of 
good  faith,  for  he  was  her  legal  king ;  but  now 
she  knew  that  the  Camarilla,  the  actual  Imperial 
government,  was  instigating  her  enemies. 

The  newly  elected  National  Assembly  convened 
at  Pesth,  the  ancient  capital,  early  in  July.  The 
royal  address  condemned  by  implication  Jellachich 
and  all  rebels,  but  tlie  insurrection  grew  in  vio- 
lence from  day  to  day.  On  July  11  Kossuth 
made  in  the  Assembly  the  most  effective  si)eech  of 
his  life.     Posterity  stands  incredulous  before  the 


98  THRONE-MAKERS 

record  of  great  orators  who,  Orpheus-like,  are  said 
to  have  moved  stocks  and  stones  by  their  voice  ; 
yet  not  on  this  account  must  we  disbelieve  the 
record.  For  posterity  can  never  supply  the  one 
thing  needful  to  the  consummate  orator's  success, 
—  it  can  never  supply  the  state  of  mind  of  his 
audience.  We  shall  always  find  that  the  epoch- 
making  speech  was  addressed  to  listeners  every 
one  of  whom  had  long  been  burning  to  hear  just 
those  words.  This  is  why  so  many  of  the  orations 
that  altered  history  look  faded  on  the  printed 
page ;  this  is  why  we  must  in  many  cases  judge 
the  orator  as  we  judge  the  singer  or  the  actor,  — 
by  the  effect  he  produces  on  his  contemporaries. 
Kossuth,  by  this  standard,  ranks  with  the  first 
orators  of  the  century,  though  a  later  generation 
is  little  thrilled  by  his  printed  speeches.  Men  who 
heard  him,  even  those  who  heard  him  speak  in  a 
language  not  his  own,  and  who  had  listened  to 
Webster  and  Clay  and  Choate,  declare  that  they 
never  heard  his  equal.  Upon  his  own  country- 
men, to  whom  his  words  came  charged  with  the 
associations  which  belong  to  one's  mother-tongue, 
his  eloquence  was  irresistible. 

In  that  11th  of  July  speech,  at  least,  we,  too, 
after  long  years,  can  feel  the  glow.  The  occasion 
itself  was  dramatic.  Every  deputy  realized  that 
the  crisis  of  the  revolution  was  at  hand,  —  that 


KOSSUTH  99 

Hungary  must  either  turn  back,  or  dare  to  plunge 
into  an  unknown  and  perilous  sea.  All  were  wait- 
ing for  the  decisive  word. 

Kossuth,  just  risen  froni  a  bed  of  sickness,  wath 
tottering  steps  mounted  the  tribune.  He  was  a 
man  of  medium  height;  his  hair  was  brown,  his 
eyes  blue  ;  he  wore  a  full  mustache  and  cut  his 
beard  sailor-wise,  so  that  it  formed  a  shaggy  fringe 
beneath  his  smooth-shaven  chin.  At  first,  as  he 
spoke,  his  pallid  face  and  feeble  gestures,  though 
they  enhanced  the  solemnity  of  his  w^ords,  made 
his  hearers  dread  a  collapse  ;  but  presently  he 
seemed  to  be  fired  with  the  strength  which  burned 
in  his  subject,  and  they  listened  for  two  hours, 
spell-bound  and  electrified. 

"  I  feel,"  he  said  to  them,  "  as  if  God  had  put 
in  my  hands  the  trumpet  to  rouse  the  dead,  that, 
if  sinners  and  weak,  they  may  sink  back  into 
death,  but  that,  if  the  vigor  of  life  is  still  in  them, 
they  may  waken  to  eternity."  He  then  went  on  to 
review  the  quarrel  with  Croatia,  declaring  that 
to  that  country  Hungary  had,  from  immemorial 
time,  accorded  all  the  privileges  which  she  herself 
enjoyed,  and  that  recently  she  had  conceded  to  the 
Croats  a  wider  use  of  their  native  language.  "  I 
can  understand  a  people,"  he  said  ironically,  "who, 
deeming  the  freedom  they  possess  too  little,  take 
up  arms   to  acquire   more,  though  they  play,  in- 


100  Til  HONE-MAKERS 

deed,  a  hazardous  game,  for  such  weapons  are  two- 
edged  ;  but  I  cannot  understand  a  people  who  say, 
'  The  freedom  you  offer  us  is  too  great,  —  we  will 
not  accept  your  offer,  but  will  go  and  submit  our- 
selves to  the  yoke  of  Absolutism.'  "  Kossuth  next 
touched  on  the  situation  in  the  South,  and  showed 
wherein  it  differed  from  that  in  the  Southwest. 
He  told  how  the  Camarilla  had  sought  to  compel 
the  ministers  to  acknowledge  the  unlawful  preten- 
sions of  Croatia,  and  thereby  to  annul  the  pledges 
of  the  King.  He  pointed  out,  as  an  ominous  cloud 
on  the  eastern  horizon,  the  recent  appearance  of  a 
Russian  army  along  the  Pruth.  When,  after  this 
review,  he  solemnly  announced,  "  The  fatherland 
is  in  danger,"  not  a  deputy  was  surprised,  not  a 
head  shook  incredulously.  At  last  he  asked  for 
authority  to  levy  two  hundred  thousand  soldiers, 
and  to  raise  a  loan  of  forty-two  million  florins, 
setting  forth  the  means  by  which  he  planned  to 
meet  this  extraordinary  measure  as  eloquently  as 
he  had  set  forth  its  need. 

He  had  held  the  Assembly  captivated  for  two 
hours  ;  now,  as  he  was  closing,  his  strength  failed, 
and  he  could  not  speak.  The  deputies,  too,  were 
speechless.  For  a  brief  moment  intense  silence 
reigned  between  him  and  them.  Then  Paul  Nyary, 
who  only  yesterday  had  attacked  the  policy  of  the 
Cabinet,  rose,  lifted  his  right  hand  as  if  invoking 


KOSSUTfl  Icl 

God  to  be  his  witness,  and  exclaimed,  "  We  grant 
everything!  "  In  a  flash  four  hundred  hands  were 
raised,  and  four  hundred  voices  repeated  Nyary's 
covenant.  When  quiet  came  again,  Kossuth  had 
recovered  strength  to  say  that  his  request  should 
not  be  taken  as  a  demand  for  a  vote  of  confidence. 
"  We  ask  your  vote  for  the  preservation  of  the 
country ;  and,  sirs,  if  any  breast  sighs  for  free- 
dom, if  any  desire  waits  for  fulfilment,  let  that 
breast  suffer  a  little  longer,  let  it  have  j^atience 
until  we  have  saved  the  fatherland.  You  have  all 
risen  to  a  man,  and  I  bow  before  the  great-hearted- 
ness  of  the  nation,  while  I  ask  one  thing  more :  let 
your  energy  equal  your  patriotism,  and  the  gates 
of  hell  itself  shall  not  prevail  against  Hungary  !  " 

In  March,  under  the  magic  of  Kossuth's  irre- 
sistible oratory,  the  Magyars  had  boldly  demanded 
their  constitutional  rights ;  now  in  July,  thrilled 
by  the  same  magic,  they  pledged  themselves  to 
defend  their  independence  to  the  death. 

The  summer  passed  amid  recruiting  of  Hon- 
veds,  volunteer  "defenders  of  the  fatherland,"  the 
attempt  to  quell  the  insurrection  in  Transylvania 
and  among  the  Serbs,  and  the  renewed  intrigues 
of  the  Imperial  Court  to  browbeat  the  Hungarian 
Cabinet.  In  September,  Jcllachich,  at  last  avow- 
edly in  the  service  of  Austria,  prepared  to  invade 
Hungary. 


-1 0-2  '  T4T  RONE-M AK ERS 

The  Palatine,  unable  to  bring  about  a  reconcili- 
ation, quitted  the  country.  The  Viennese  Cabinet 
appointed  Count  Lamberg  to  assume  full  control 
of  the  military  affairs  in  the  kingdom ;  the  Hun- 
garians pronounced  his  appointment  unconstitu- 
tional, and  they  were  right.  On  his  arrival  at 
Pesth,  he  was  murdered  by  a  mob.  This  rash 
crime  caused  some  of  the  Liberals  to  withdraw 
horrified.  Batthyanyi  resigned  the  premiership, 
and  a  Committee  of  National  Defense,  in  which 
Kossuth  predominated,  was  chosen.  On  October  2, 
the  Camarilla,  grown  truculent,  dispatched  Recsey 
to  dissolve  the  Hungarian  Assembly,  and  bade 
Hungary  to  submit  to  Jellachich.  The  Magyars 
heeded  neither  command.  Having  equity  and 
law  on  their  side,  they  acted  henceforth  on  the 
assumption  that  the  orders  which  emanated  from 
Vienna  could  not  be  attributed  to  Ferdinand  with- 
out imputing  perjury  to  him. 

War  could  no  longer  be  avoided.  The  Com- 
mittee of  National  Defense  displayed  great  energy 
in  organizing  resistance.  Kossuth's  eloquence 
went  over  the  land,  and  the  cloddish  peasant  left 
the  plough,  the  well-to-do  tradesman  deserted  his 
shop,  the  lawyer  dropped  his  brief,  to  become  vol- 
unteers in  the  service  of  their  country.  A  third 
outbreak  at  Vienna  sent  the  Camarilla  hurrying 
off  to  Olmiitz,  and  seemed  for  a  moment  to  assure 


KOSSUTH  103 

the  final  triumph  of  the  revolution.  During  the 
three  weeks  which  elapsed  before  an  Austrian 
army  under  Prince  Windischgratz  —  he  who  said 
that  "  human  beings  begin  with  barons  "  —  could 
be  brought  up,  the  Hungarians  debated  whether 
they  should  go  to  the  assistance  of  the  Viennese, 
for  they  wished  to  be  strictly  legal.  At  last  they 
found  justification  in  the  plea  that  they  had  a 
right  to  pursue  Jellachich,  who  was  marching  to 
join  Windischgratz,  across  the  Austrian  frontier. 
But  they  decided  too  late.  Their  troops  were 
beaten  at  Schwechat,  on  the  outskirts  of  Vienna, 
just  as  Windischgratz  was  successfully  storming 
the  city  (October  29). 

For  six  weeks  thereafter  Windischgratz  devoted 
himself  to  stamping  out  the  rebellion  in  Vienna, 
and  in  preparing  for  a  campaign  against  Hungary. 
On  December  2  poor,  weak-witted  Ferdinand  ab- 
dicated, and  his  nephew  Francis  Joseph  succeeded 
him  as  emperor.  This  change  betokened  the 
returning  confidence  of  the  Court  party.  They 
now  felt  sure  of  crushing  the  revolution,  and  of 
restoring  the  Old  licginie ;  but  tliey  had  no  inten- 
tion that,  when  the  rest  of  Austria  was  re-subjected 
to  their  despotism,  Hungaiy  alone  should  enjoy  a 
constitutional  government.  Yet  this  had  been  pro- 
mised by  Ferdinand,  and  lie  had  scruples  against 
openly  violating  his  oatli.     Therefore,  by  remov 


101  THRONE-MAKERS 

ing  him  and  substituting  Francis  Joseph,  they 
had  a  sovereign  unhampered  by  pledges.  To  this 
scheme  the  Magyars  naturally  did  not  bend ;  their 
Constitution  was  their  life,  and  that  Constitution 
recognized  no  king  who  had  not  been  crowned  by 
the  Magyars,  and  had  not  sworn  to  preserve  their 
rights  inviolate. 

Ten  days  before  Christmas,  Windischgratz 
opened  his  campaign.  Five  armies  besides  his 
own  invaded  Hungary  from  five  different  direc- 
tions. The  Magyars  had  employed  the  six  weeks' 
lull  in  defensive  preparations.  They  gave  Arthur 
Gorgei,  an  ex-officer  thirty-one  years  old,  —  able, 
stern,  selfish,  and  inordinately  ambitious, — the 
command  of  the  Army  of  the  Upper  Danube.  He 
proposed  to  abandon  the  frontier  and  to  mass  the 
Hungarian  forces  in  the  interior,  where  they  could 
choose  their  own  ground  ;  but  the  Committee  of 
Defense  insisted  that  every  inch  of  Hungarian 
soil  should  be  contested.  A  fortnight's  operations 
proved  the  wisdom  of  Gorgei's  plan  :  tlie  Magyars 
were  easily  driven  back,  and  on  New  Year's  eve 
the  Austrians  camped  within  gunshot  of  Buda- 
Pesth.  The  following  day,  January  1,  1849,  a 
melancholy  procession  of  ministers,  deputies,  state 
officials,  fearful  citizens,  and  stragglers,  set  out 
from  Pesth,  carrying  with  them  the  precious  crown 
of  St.  Stephen,  the  public  coffers  and  archives,  and 


KOSSUTH  105 

the  printing-presses  for  bank-notes.  Debreczin,  a 
town  forty  leagues  inland,  became  the  temporary 
capital.  At  Biula-Pesth,  Windischgratz  celebrated 
his  triumph  by  holding  a  Bloody  Assize.  To  en- 
voys from  the  fugitive  government  who  asked  him 
to  state  his  conditions,  he  only  replied,  "■  I  do  not 
treat  with  rebels." 

Among  the  Magyars,  consternation  was  quickly 
succeeded  by  a  mood  of  desperation,  —  such  a 
mood  as  made  France  invincible  in  1792.  Again 
did  Kossuth's  eloquence  pass  like  the  breath  of 
life  over  the  land  ;  again  did  his  energy  direct  the 
equipment  of  new  recruits  and  fill  the  gaps  of  the 
regiments  already  in  the  field.  Had  the  deputies 
at  Debreczin  voted  as  they  wished,  they  would  have 
voted  for  peace  ;  but  they  knew  that  the  majority 
of  their  countrymen  would  reject  any  peace  which 
Austria  was  likely  to  offer,  and  they  were  ashamed 
to  appear  less  daring  than  Kossuth. 

The  enthusiasm,  we  might  call  it  the  reckless- 
ness, with  which  the  Magyars  rallied  to  repel  in- 
vasion, became  a  people  who  counted  John  II un- 
yadi  and  Francis  Rakoczy  among  their  national 
heroes.  Thanks  to  their  patriotic  fervor,  the  Hun- 
garian cause,  which  seemed  about  to  collapse  at 
the  beginning  of  January,  seemed  about  to  prevail 
at  the  end  of  March.  Bern  had  worsted  the  Wal- 
lachs  and  Austrians  in  Transylvania  ;  Gorgei  had 


106  THRONE-MAKERS 

redeemed  Northern  Hungary;  Klapka  and  Dam- 
janics  had  brought  Windischgratz  to  bay  in  the 
midlands. 

Well  had  it  been  for  Hungary  if  these  astonish- 
ing successes  had  prevented  internal  discord,  for 
twofold  dissensions  now  threatened  to  sap  the 
growing  strength.  From  one  side,  the  generals 
chafed  at  being  subordinate  to  the  civilian  Com- 
mittee of  Defense ;  on  the  other,  a  large  body  of 
soldiers  and  of  civilians  were  angry  at  the  evident 
drift  of  Kossuth  and  his  friends  towards  a  repub- 
lic. Gorgei,  the  most  conspicuous  of  the  generals, 
led  this  opposition.  He  declared  in  a  manifesto 
that  the  army  would  fight  to  maintain  against 
every  foreign  enemy  the  Constitution  granted  by 
Ferdinand,  but  that  they  would  favor  no  attempt  to 
convert  the  constitutional  monarchy  into  a  repub- 
lic. The  Committee  of  Defense,  most  eager  in 
their  patriotism,  could  not  refrain  from  meddling  ; 
they  suffered  from  the  delusion  common  to  such 
committees,  and  believed  that  they  knew  better 
than  the  trained  men  of  war  how  war  should  be 
waged.  They  felt,  too,  political  responsibilities 
which  made  them  all  the  more  active;  and  they 
had,  as  was  natural,  their  favorites  among  the  offi- 
cers. Had  the  government  been  strong,  it  would 
have  cashiered  Giargei ;  being  weak,  and  solicitous 
of  conciliating  so  important  a  man,  it  tolerated  him. 


KOSSUTH  107 

But  when  a  government  and  its  generals  distrust 
each  otlier,  —  as  we  learned  in  our  civil  war,  — 
conciliation  can  satisfy  neither.  If  Gorgei  lost  a 
battle,  his  enemies  charged  him  with  lukewarm- 
ness  or  disobedience;  he  retorted  by  blaming  the 
committee  for  failing  to  support  him  or  for  break- 
ing in  upon  his  plans.  We  need  not  sift  the  re- 
criminations in  detail :  it  suffices  for  us  to  know 
that,  from  January  on,  Gorgei  and  Kossuth,  and 
their  respective  partisans,  worked  thus  at  odds. 

Nevertheless,  among  the  masses  these  quarrels 
had  but  slight  effect.  The  average  Magyar  was 
simply  bent  on  avenging  his  long  score  of  oppres- 
sion against  Austria.  He  realized  that  his  own 
existence  depended  on  that  of  Hungary,  and  to 
him  Kossuth's  eloquence  was  like  a  trumpet-call 
of  duty.  That  in  performing  his  duty  the  Magyar 
might  lawfully  wreak  vengeance  on  his  oppressors, 
made  duty  doubly  attractive. 

In  the  early  spring,  Austria  closed  the  way  to 
compromise  by  proclaiming  a  new  charter  for  the 
whole  Empire.  This  charter  declared  that  all  the 
provinces  of  the  Empire  were  to  be  reduced  to  a 
common  equality,  deprived  of  local  rights,  and 
governed  by  a  central  administration  at  Vienna. 

The  ^lagyars,  then,  had  nothing  to  hope. 
Whether  they  submitted  to  Austria  or  were  con- 
quered by  her,  their  ancient  Constitution  would  be 


108  THRONE-MAKERS 

blotted  out.  They  would  cease  to  be  a  nation. 
Accordingly,  on  April  14,  1849,  they  proclaimed 
the  independence  of  Hungary,  calling  God  and 
man  to  witness  the  wrongs  she  had  suffered  from 
the  House  of  Hapsburg,  and  setting  forth  the 
illegality,  truculence,  and  perfidy  of  Austria  dur- 
ing the  past  thirteen  months.  A  diet  was  to  be 
summoned,  which  should  determine  the  form  of 
government  that  Hungary  would  permanently 
adopt ;  meanwhile  Kossuth  was  chosen  president- 
governor,  and  by  appointing  Gorgei  commander- 
in-chief  he  hoped  to  heal  old  wounds. 

The  moment  was  propitious.  The  Austrians 
had  been  beaten  in  a  great  battle  (at  Isaszeg)  on 
April  7 ;  and  most  of  the  fortresses,  except  Buda, 
had  been  recaptured.  Gorgei  himself  seemed  sat- 
isfied. The  elated  Magyars  dreamed  even  of  a 
swift  campaign  against  Vienna,  and  of  bringing 
the  Imperial  tyrant  to  terms  which  should  be 
acceptable  to  all  his  subject  races.  But  their 
dream,  if  ever  attainable,  was  spoiled  by  delay. 
Gorgei  insisted  that  Buda  must  be  retaken  before 
he  marched  farther  west,  and  only  on  May  21  did 
he  succeed  in  storming  its  citadel.  By  that  time  a 
new  peril,  more  terrible  than  any  previous,  loomed 
up.  Austria,  in  despair  of  subjugating  Hungary, 
had  besought  Russia  to  help  her,  and  the  Czar, 
glad  of  an  excuse  for  interfering,  was  marshaling 
his  troops  on  the  Hungarian  frontier. 


KOSSUTH  109 

No  assistance  could  the  Magyars  secure  to  offset 
this  threatened  intervention.  France  and  Ensf- 
land  would  not  even  recognize  their  republic, 
although  Frenchmen  and  Englishmen  privately 
sympathized  with  their  cause.  From  Venice  alone, 
the  little  republic  round  whose  neck  the  Austrian 
noose  was  already  tightening,  came  a  heartfelt 
recognition,  which,  however,  added  not  a  soldier  to 
their  army  nor  a  florin  to  their  purse.  Desperate, 
but  not  yet  willing  to  surrender,  the  Magyars 
nerved  themselves  for  a  final  effort.  Kossuth 
proclaimed  a  crusade,  a  levy  in  mass  ;  every  man 
to  arm  himself,  were  it  only  with  a  scythe  or  a 
bludgeon  ;  perpetual  prayers  to  be  offered  up  in 
the  churches ;  the  enemy  to  be  harassed  at  all 
places,  to  be  hindered  by  the  destruction  of  bridges 
and  stores,  and,  wherever  possible,  by  open  fight- 
ing. 

Posterity,  calmly  reviewing  a  death  struggle  like 
this,  is  amazed  that  any  people  could  be  roused  to 
make  that  last  stand.  Plainly  enough,  the  Mag- 
yars had  three  soldiers  against  them  to  every  one 
of  theirs  ;  ammunition  and  victuals  were  failing 
them ;  their  treasury  was  empty ;  their  armies 
could  expect  no  reinforcements :  to  what  end, 
therefore,  protract  a  hopeless  war?  Reasoning 
thus,  we  niiss  the  secret,  not  only  of  the  revolution- 
ists of  1848-49,   but  of  all  who  have  ever    been 


110  THRONE-MAKERS 

kindled  by  patriotism  to  defend  a  cause  they  held 
dearer  than  life.  The  Magyars  would  never  have 
gone  thus  far,  —  never  have  felt  during  that  May- 
month  the  fleeting  exhilaration  of  victory,  —  had 
they  not  been  fired  by  a  passion  which  not  disaster 
but  death  alone  could  quench. 

The  Russian  invasion  being  assured,  the  Magyar 
government  held  a  council  of  war,  at  which  it  was 
proposed  to  consolidate  the  various  armies,  and  to 
defeat  first  the  Austrians  coming  from  the  west 
and  then  the  Russians  coming  from  the  north 
and  east,  —  a  sensible  plan,  frustrated,  however, 
by  delays,  some  of  which  were  unavoidable.  The 
Austrian  army,  strengthened  by  reinforcements 
from  Italy,  and  commanded  by  Marshal  Haynau, 
who  came  red-handed  from  Brescia,  advanced  into 
Hungary,  and  defeated  Gorgei  on  the  river  Waag 
(June  20-21).  The  Magyar  Government  and 
Diet  departed  for  the  second  time,  in  melancholy 
procession,  from  their  capital.  By  the  middle  of 
July  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  Russians  — 
eighty  thousand  of  whom  were  led  by  the  wolfish 
Paskevitch  —  had  penetrated  into  the  heart  of  the 
country.  Inevitably,  the  Magyar  forces  would 
be  driven  in  and  caught  between  the  victorious 
enemies :  nevertheless,  they  would  not  yet  submit. 

Internal  discord  alone  tarnished  the  record  of 
the  last  days  of   the   Hungarian  Republic.     On 


KOSSUTH  111 

July  1,  Kossuth  removed  Gorgei  for  insubordina- 
tion, but  Gorgei's  officers  and  men  protested  so 
loudly  that  Kossuth  thought  it  discreet  to  rein- 
state him.  Three  weeks  later,  a  fraction  of  the 
Diet,  assembled  at  Szegedin,  declared  the  equality 
of  all  the  races  in  Hungary,  emancipated  the  Jews, 
and  then,  warned  by  the  rumble  of  hostile  cannon, 
it  dissolved  forever. 

For  yet  a  few  weeks  we  have  news  of  Kossuth 
hurrying  hither  and  thither  to  proclaim  hope 
where  no  hope  was ;  conferring  with  nonplussed 
but  still  resolute  generals ;  dragging  after  him, 
like  his  shadow,  those  printing-presses  for  bank- 
notes, now  worth  no  more  than  blank  paper. 
Finally,  at  Arad,  he  resigned  the  presidency,  and 
appointed  Gorgei  dictator  with  full  powers.  At 
Vilagos,  on  August  13,  Gorgei  surrendered  his 
exhausted  army  of  twenty-three  thousand  men  to 
Rudiger,  the  Russian  general.  Thus  was  con- 
summated what  the  Magyars,  frenzied  by  defeat, 
branded  as  Gorgei's  treason,  but  what,  to  an 
impartial  observer,  appears  an  inevitable  act. 
Gorgei's  course  throughout  the  war  cannot  be 
commended :  inordinate  personal  ambition,  not 
treason,  was  its  motive ;  he  may  have  thought  to 
play  the  part  of  Monk,  but  more  likely  he  had 
taken  Napoleon  for  his  model ;  one  thing  alone  is 
certain,  —  he  did  not  intend  that  Kossuth  should 


112  THRONE-MAKERS 

reap  the  glory  of  victory,  if  victory  came.  In  sur- 
rendering at  Vilagos  he  did  what  every  commander 
is  justified  in  doing,  when  further  resistance  could 
only  entail  fresh  losses  without  any  hope  of  alter- 
ing the  result. 

Learning  the  capitulation  of  the  main  army, 
the  other  generals  one  by  one  submitted.  Klapka 
alone  maintained  an  heroic  defense  at  Comorn 
until  September  27,  when  hunger  and  an  empty 
maaazine  forced  him  to  surrender.  With  the 
hauling  down  of  the  red-white-and-green  flag  from 
the  citadel  of  Comorn  vanished  the  last  symbol 
of  that  revolution  which,  bursting  forth  at  Palermo 
in  January,  1848,  had  spread  through  Europe, 
shaking  the  thrones  of  monarchs,  and  kindling  in 
down-trodden  people  the  belief  that  a  new  epoch, 
a  Golden  Age  of  Liberty,  had  come.  Hopes  as 
splendid  as  men  ever  cherished  had  now  been 
shattered,  and  in  their  stead  only  the  bitterest 
memories  remained  ;  for  as  each  people  pondered 
in  sorrow  and  oppression  the  events  of  those 
twenty  months,  it  was  tormented  by  the  reflection 
that  its  own  dissensions,  not  less  than  the  might 
of  its  enemies,  had  wrought  its  ruin. 

Austria,  careful  by  a  deceitful  silence  to  en- 
courage the  stray  bodies  of  Magyar  troops  to  give 
themselves  up,  proceeded  to  punish  Hungary  with 
a  severity  which  matched  the  persecutions  of  the 


KOSSUTH  113 

French  Reign  of  Terror.  In  every  city  Marshal 
Haynau  set  up  his  shambles  ;  in  every  parish  he 
plied  his  scourge.  Imprisonment,  torture,  confis- 
cation, overtook  the  lowly  defenders  of  the  Magyar 
cause  ;  death  awaited  the  leaders.  On  October  6, 
at  Arad,  fourteen  generals  were  hanged  or  shot, 
and  that  same  day  Count  Louis  Batthyanyi  was 
shot  at  Pesth.  Gorgei  was  spared,  thanks  to  the 
personal  intervention  of  Czar  Nicholas. 

Kossuth  and  several  thousand  Magyars  took 
refuge  in  Turkey.  The  Sultan  protected  him,  in 
spite  of  the  threats  of  Russia  and  Austria,  —  pro- 
tected him  because  the  Turkish  religion  forbade 
the  betrayal  of  a  refugee,  —  but  kept  him  for 
nearly  two  years  in  half  bondage.  Then  the  Mag- 
yar hero,  at  the  instance  of  the  American  Con- 
gress, was  permitted  to  embark  on  an  American 
man-of-war.  He  came  to  the  United  States,  where 
he  was  greeted  with  an  enthusiasm  which  no  other 
foreigner  except  Lafayette  Iiad  stirred.  He  got 
boundless  sympathy,  and  no  inconsiderable  sum 
of  money  for  prosecuting  tlie  emancipation  of 
Hungary ;  but  the  times  were  unfavorable,  and 
the  lot  of  the  Magyars  concerned  very  little  the 
rulers  of  European  di])loma('y  after  1850.  Re- 
turning to  Europe,  Kossuth  made  agitation  his 
sole  aim.  He  strove  to  interest  the  great  jiowers 
in    Hungary's    fate  ;    he    strove,    through    secret 


114  THRONE-MAKERS 

emissaries,  to  provoke  the  Magyars  themselves  to 
rebel.  The  former  were  deaf ;  the  latter,  taught 
by  terrible  experience,  deemed  it  folly  to  attack 
Austria  again  in  the  field.  Through  the  persist- 
ent and  judicious  political  agitation  led  by  the 
sagacious  Francis  Deak,  they  achieved,  in  1867, 
a  recognition  of  their  constitutional  rights,  and 
a  full  measure  of  home  rule. 

Kossuth,  however,  refused  to  the  last  to  be  re- 
conciled. He  lived  in  exile  at  Turin,  a  forlorn 
old  man,  forlorn  but  inflexible,  amid  the  memo- 
ries of  exploits  which  once  had  amazed  the  world. 
There  he  died  on  March  20,  1894,  having  survived 
all  his  contemporaries,  friends  and  foes  alike,  who 
had  beheld  the  rise  and  splendor  and  eclipse  of 
his  astonishing  career.  To  be  the  mouthpiece  of 
a  haughty  and  valiant  people  at  one  of  the  heroic 
crises  of  their  history  was  his  mission.  His  genius, 
his  defects,  mirror  the  genius  and  defects  of  his 
countrymen ;  his  glory,  being  a  part  of  the  glory 
of  a  whole  race,  is  secure.  That  race,  which 
Arpad  led  into  the  heart  of  Europe,  showed,  at 
Kossuth's  summons,  a  thousand  years  later,  that  it 
had  not  lost  the  traits  which  had  once  distinguished 
it  on  the  shores  of  Lake  Baikal  and  along  the 
upper  waters  of  the  Yenisei. 


GARIBALDI 

When  men  look  back,  two  or  three  hundred 
years  hence,  upon  the  nineteenth  century,  it  may 
well  be  that  they  will  discern  its  salient  character- 
istic to  have  been,  not  scientific,  not  inventive,  as 
we  popularly  suppose,  but  romantic.  Science  will 
soon  bury  our  present  heaps  of  facts  under  larger 
accumulations,  from  the  summit  of  which  broader 
theories  may  be  scanned  ;  to-morrow  will  make 
to-day's  wonderful  invention  old-fashioned  and  in- 
sufficient :  but  the  romance  with  which  this  later 
time  has  been  charged  will  exercise  an  increasinsr 
fascination  over  poets  and  novelists  and  historians, 
as  the  years  roll  on.  Oblivion  swallows  up  mate- 
rial achievements,  but  great  deeds  never  grow  old. 
That  many  of  our  writers  should  not  have  heard 
this  note  of  the  age  argues  that  they,  rather  than 
the  age,  are  prosaic  and  commonplace.  For  to 
what  other  period  shall  we  turn  for  a  richer  store 
of  those  vicissitudes  and  contrasts  in  fortune  which 
make  up  the  real  romance,  the  profound  tragedy, 
of  life?  Everywhere  the  dissolution  of  a  society 
rooted  in  mediaeval  traditions  is  accompanied  by 


116  THRONE-MAKERS 

confusion  and  struggle,  —  the  birth-pangs  of  a  new- 
order.  Classes  whose  separation  seemed  perma- 
nent are  thrown  together,  and  antagonistic  ele- 
ments are  strangely  mixed  ;  there  is  strife,  and 
doubt,  and  excess  ;  sudden  combinations  are  sud- 
denly rent  by  discords  ;  anachronisms  flourish  side 
by  side  with  innovations ;  new  institutions  wear 
old  names,  and  old  abuses  mask  in  new  disguises. 

In  such  a  crisis,  two  facts  are  prominent :  the 
unusual  range  of  activity  offered  to  the  individual 
—  may  he  not  traverse  the  whole  scale  of  experi- 
ence ?  —  and  the  dependence  of  the  individual 
upon  himself.  He  rises,  or  he  falls,  by  his  own 
motion.  The  privileges  of  caste  avail  nothing ; 
for  the  very  confusion  produces  a  certain  wild 
equality,  whereby  all  start  at  the  line,  and  the 
swiftest  wins.  Napoleon's  maxim.  La  carriere 
ouverte  aux  talents^  is  the  motto  of  the  century. 
Napoleon  himself  is  an  epochal  illustration  of  the 
power  of  the  individual  to  make  the  momentum  of 
circumstances  work  for  him.  The  Revolution,  it 
is  true,  had  harnessed  the  steeds  ;  but  Napoleon 
dared  to  mount  the  chariot,  grasped  the  reins,  and 
drove  over  Evirope,  upsetting  thrones  and  prince- 
doms and  hierarchies.  The  haughty  descendants 
of  immemorial  lineage  gave  place  to  the  brothers 
and  comrades  of  the  "  Corsican  upstart."  Murat, 
the  son  of  a  tavern-keeper ;  Ney,  a  briefless  law- 


GARIBALDI  117 

student ;  Lannes,  a  dyer ;  Soult,  Massena,  Ber- 
thier,  Junot,  soldiers  of  fortune  ;  and  how  many 
other  children  of  the  Third  Estate,  —  laughed  at 
the  pretensions  of  humbled  Bourbons,  Hapsburgs, 
and  Hohenzollerns  !  Frequent  reactions  between 
revolution  and  restoration  serve  to  emphasize  the 
stress  of  this  crisis ;  and  these  contrasts  in  the 
conditions  of  men,  revealing  human  character 
under  the  most  diverse  phases,  show  how  inextri- 
cably the  romantic  and  the  tragic  are  interwoven 
in  the  average  lot. 

Nor  in  Europe  only  has  this  spectacle  been 
going  forward.  The  United  States  also  have  wit- 
nessed similarly  rapid  transmutations,  partly  due 
to  other  causes.  Within  a  generation  we  have 
seen  a  gigantic  national  upheaval :  three  millions 
of  artisans,  clerks,  merchants,  and  lawyers  were 
transformed  by  the  magic  of  a  drum-beat  into 
soldiers ;  and  then,  the  conflict  over,  soldiers  and 
uniforms  vanished,  and  the  labors  of  peace  were 
resumed. 

Follow  Abraham  Lincoln  from  his  Illinois  lojr- 
cabin  to  the  White  House ;  follow  Grant  from  his 
tanyard  to  Appomattox,  —  and  you  can  compute 
the  sweep  of  Fortune's  wheel.  These  careers  were 
lived  so  near  us  that  they  hardly  astonish  us ; 
they  seem  as  natural  as  daylight ;  and  in  truth 
they  are  as  natural  as  that  or  any  other  every-day 


118  THRONE-MAKERS 

miracle.  As  if  forgetful  of  these,  we  ransack  the 
past,  or  fiction,  or  melodramas,  for  heroes  to  admire. 
To  weak  imaginations,  distance  still  lends  enchant- 
ment. 

Our  age  has  produced  one  romantic  man,  how- 
ever, who  had  not  to  wait  for  the  mellowing  effects 
of  time  to  be  recognized  as  romantic.  He  enjoyed, 
almost  from  the  outset  of  his  career,  the  fame  of  a 
legendary  hero,  and  he  will,  we  cannot  doubt,  be  a 
hero  to  posterity.  Some  future  Tasso  will  find  in 
his  life  a  theme  nobler  than  Godfrey's,  too  roman- 
tic in  fact  for  either  invention  or  myth  to  enhance 
it.  He  lived  dramas  as  naturally  as  Shakespeare 
wrote  them ;  the  commonplace  could  not  befall 
him.  Looking  at  him  from  one  side  we  might  say, 
"  Here  is  a  Homeric  hero,  strangely  transplanted 
from  the  Iliad  into  an  era  of  railroads  and  tele- 
graphs ! "  But  if  we  fix  our  attention  on  other 
qualities,  we  discover  in  him  a  typical  democrat, 
fit  product  of  a  democratic  age.  This  man  was 
Joseph  Garibaldi,  whose  career  alone  would  suffice 
to  redeem  the  nineteenth  century  from  the  stigma 
of  egotism  and  the  rebuke  of  commonplaceness. 

Among  all  the  political  achievements  of  our 
century,  none  has  more  of  noble  charm  than  the 
redemption  of  Italy.  Whether  we  look  at  the  dif- 
ficidty  of  the  undertaking,  or  at  the  careers  of  the 
leaders  and  the  temper  of  the  people  who  engaged 


GARIBALDI  119 

in  it,  we  are  alike  allured  and  amazed.  After 
the  fall  of  the  Roman  Empire,  Italy  had  never 
been  united  under  one  government;  nevertheless, 
from  the  time  of  Dante  on,  the  aspiration  towards 
national  unity  was  kept  burning  in  every  patri- 
otic Italian  heart.  During  the  Middle  Age,  little 
republics  won  independence  by  overthrowing  their 
feudal  lords  ;  then  they  quarreled  among  them- 
selves ;  and  then  they  became  the  prey  and  appa- 
nage of  a  few  strong  families.  The  Bishop  of 
Eome,  forgetful  of  his  spiritual  mission,  lusted 
after  worldly  power,  established  himself  as  a  tem- 
poral sovereign,  and  elevated  his  cardinals  into 
temporal  princes.  Foreign  invaders  —  Normans, 
Spaniards,  Germans,  French  —  swept  over  the 
peninsula  in  successive  waves ;  bloodshed  and  pil- 
lage signalized  their  coming,  corruption  was  the 
slime  they  left  behind  them.  One  by  one,  the 
refugees  of  independence  were  submerged  in  the 
flood  of  servitude  ;  until  at  last  Venice  herself, 
become  merely  the  mummy  of  a  republic,  crum- 
bled to  dust  at  Napoleon's  touch.  Najjoleon  pro- 
mised, but  did  not  give,  to  Italy  the  unity  or  the 
freedom  which  she  still  dreamed  of  :  he  parceled 
her  anew  into  duchies  and  kingdoms.  By  that  act 
he  broke  down  ancient  barriers  and  opened  a  new 
prospect.  Italians  beheld  the  old  order,  which 
had  so  long  oppressed  them  that  many  believed  it 


120  THRONE-MAKEllS 

must  endure  perpetually,  suddenly  dissolved,  and 
in  its  stead  a  change,  although  not  the  change 
they  longed  for.  Still,  any  change,  in  such  cir- 
cumstances, implies  fresh  possibilities ;  and  the 
Italians  passed  from  a  lethargy  which  had  seemed 
hopelessly  enthralling  into  a  restless  wakefulness. 

The  twenty  years  of  the  reign  of  Force,  of 
which  Napoleon  was  the  embodiment,  ended  at 
Waterloo.  Europe,  exhausted,  sank  back  into 
conservatism,  and  was  ruled  for  thirty  years  by 
Craft,  of  which  Metternich  was  the  symbol.^  The 
Congress  of  Vienna  reimposed  the  past  upon  Italy. 
Monarchs  and  bureaucrats,  like  children  who  amuse 
themselves  by  "  making  believe  "  things  are  not  as 
they  are,  would  have  it  appear  that  the  deluge  of 
revolution,  with  all  its  mighty  wrecks  and  subver- 
sions, had  never  been.  The  Pope  was  restored 
in  the  States  of  the  Church ;  the  Bourbons  ruled 
again  in  Naples  and  Sicily ;  an  Austrian  was  Arch- 
duke of  Tuscany ;  Parma  and  Piacenza  were  as- 
signed to  Napoleon's  wife,  Maria  Louisa ;  Venetia 
and  Lorabardy  went  as  spoils  to  Austria ;  an  abso- 
lutist king  reigned  in  Piedmont.  Evidently  the 
revolution  had  been  but  a  summer  thunderstorm, 

^  After  Metternich,  we  have  the  period  of  Shara-Foree,  under 
Louis  Napoleon  ;  and  finally  of  Force  again,  under  Bismarck. 
These  four  stages  complete  the  cycle  of  European  politics  during 
the  past  century. 


GARIBALDI  121 

for  the  sun  of  despotism  was  shining  once  more. 
The  sun  shone  ;  but  what  of  the  sultry  air  ?  What 
of  the  threatening  clouds  along  the  horizon  ?  Were 
these  the  fringe  of  the  dispersing  storm,  or  the 
portents  of  another  ?  Mutterings  and  rumblings, 
too,  Carbonari  plottings,  and  quickly  extinguished 
flashes  of  insurrection,  —  did  not  these  omens  belie 
Diplomacy's  pretense  that  the  eighteenth  century 
had  been  happily  resuscitated  to  exist  forever  ? 

It  was  during  this  interval  of  reaction  and 
relapse,  when  hope  was  stifled  and  energy  slept; 
when  victorious  despotism  flattered  itself  with  the 
belief  that  the  Napoleonic  episode  had  demon- 
strated the  absurdity  of  Liberalism ;  when  Met- 
ternich,  the  spider  of  Schonbrunn,  was  spinning 
his  cobwebs  of  chicane  across  the  path  to  liberty, 
—  then  it  was  that  the  generation  which  should 
live  to  see  Italy  free  and  united  was  getting 
what  learning  it  could  in  the  Jesuit-ridden  schools. 
Of  this  generation  the  most  romantic  figure  was 
Giuseppe  Garibaldi. 

Joseph  Garibaldi  was  born  at  Nice,  July  4,  1807. 
His  father  was  a  fisherman,  thrifty  enough  to  have 
a  small  vessel  of  his  own.  Such  stories  as  have 
come  down  to  us  of  the  boy's  childhood  show  him 
to  have  been  plucky,  adventurous,  and  tender- 
hearted, lie  cried  bitterly  at  having  broken  a 
grasshopper's  leg ;  he  rescued,  when  only  seven,  a 


122  THRONE-MAKERS 

laundress  from  drowning;  he  sailed  off  with  some 
truant  companions  for  Genoa,  and  might  have 
vanished  forever,  had  he  not  been  overtaken  near 
Monaco  and  brought  home.  His  education  was 
intrusted  to  two  priests,  from  whom,  he  says,  he 
learned  nothing  ;  then  to  a  layman,  Arena,  who 
gave  him  a  smattering  of  reading,  arithmetic,  and 
history.  As  he  was  quick  at  learning,  his  parents 
wished  to  make  a  lawyer  or  a  priest  of  him  ;  but 
he  had  the  rover's  instinct  and  could  not  resist  the 
enticements  of  the  sea.  At  length,  when  he  was 
fourteen,  his  parents  yielded,  and  he  became  a 
sailor. 

Of  those  early  voyages,  we  need  mention  only 
one,  which  took  him  to  Rome.  Immense  the  im- 
pression the  Holy  City  made  on  his  imagination ! 
Pie  saw  not  the  Rome  of  the  Caesars,  nor  the  Rome 
of  the  Popes,  —  the  city  whose  monuments  entomb 
twenty-five  centuries  of  history  ;  but,  he  says,  "  the 
Rome  of  the  future,  that  Rome  of  which  I  have 
never  despaired,  —  shipwrecked,  at  the  point  of 
death,  buried  in  the  depth  of  American  forests  ; 
the  Rome  of  the  regenerating  idea  of  a  great 
people  ;  the  dominating  idea  of  whatever  Past  or 
Present  could  inspire  in  me,  as  it  has  been  through 
all  my  life.  Oh,  Rome  became  then  dear  to  me 
above  all  earthly  existences.  I  adored  her  with  all 
the  fervor  of  my  soul.     In  short,  Rome  for  me  is 


GARIBALDI  123 

Italy,  and  I  see  no  Italy  possible  save  in  the  union, 
compact  or  federate,  of  her  scattered  members. 
Rome  is  the  symbol  of  united  Italy,  under  what- 
ever form  you  will.  And  the  most  infernal  work 
of  the  Papacy  was  that  of  keeping  her  morally 
and  materially  divided."  ^ 

Thenceforth  the  young  mariner,  who  rose  rap- 
idly to  be  mate  and  master,  could  not  rest  for  the 
thought  of  the  Eternal  City,  and  of  the  country 
his  patriotism  craved.  During  these  years,  he 
learned  to  take  Fortune's  buffets  :  he  was  captured 
by  pirates,  he  lay  ill  and  penniless  for  months  at 
Constantinople,  —  adventures  which  in  another 
career  would  demand  more  than  passing  notice, 
but  which  he  deemed  unimportant  in  comparison 
with  a  conversation  he  had  with  a  young  Ligurian, 
who  unfolded  to  him  the  dreams  of  the  Mazzi- 
nians.  "  Columbus  did  not  experience  so  great  a 
satisfaction  at  the  discovery  of  America,"  says 
Garibaldi,  "  as  I  experienced  at  finding  one  who 
busied  himself  with  the  redemption  of  our  father- 
laud." 

Fatherland  !  the  name  seemed  a  mockery  to  the 
Italians  of  that  time.  Italy,  as  Metternich  phrased 
it,  was  only  a  geograj)hical  expression.  Seven  or 
eight  potty  princes,  including  the  Pope,  ruled  the 
little  patches  into   which  the  Peninsula   was  cut 

^  This  was  written  iu  1840. 


124  THRONE-MAKERS 

up.  All  the  north,  except  Piedmont,  was  directly 
subject  to  a  foreign  despot,  Austria ;  while,  indi- 
rectly, Austria  domineered  over  Tuscany,  Rome, 
and  Naples.  Piedmont  had  a  native  king,  indeed, 
but  Absolutism  throve  nowhere  more  vigorously 
than  there.  The  Jesuits  controlled  the  worship 
and  education  of  the  little  kingdom  ;  reactionaries 
filled  the  ministerial  offices,  the  army,  and  the  gov- 
ernment bureaux ;  the  sovereign  himself,  Charles 
Albert,  believed  devoutly  in  the  divine  right  of 
kings,  and  held  that  it  would  be  criminal  in  him, 
by  granting  his  people  more  freedom,  to  lessen  the 
responsibility  imposed  on  him  by  God.  Through- 
out the  Peninsula,  no  one  might  discuss  politics, 
whether  in  speech  or  writing.  It  was  high  trea- 
son to  suggest  representative  government ;  the  sov- 
ereign's will  was  the  only  constitution.  In  some 
parts  of  the  land,  the  very  word  Italy  could  not  be 
used  by  actors  on  the  stage  ;  and  everywhere  cen- 
sors kept  watch  to  prevent  the  idea  of  a  regenerate 
Italy  from  slipping  into  print. 

By  foreigners,  the  Italians  were  more  often  de- 
spised than  pitied ;  they  were  believed  to  be  pluck- 
less,  wordy,  deceitful  creatures,  who  at  best  had 
their  uses  as  singers,  dancing-masters,  and  paint- 
ers' models.  Among  themselves,  discord  (born  of 
ancestral  feuds),  envy  (born  of  local  ambitions, 
a  love  of  haranguing,  and  a  lack  of  leaders),  had 


GARIBALDI  125 

thrice  resulted  in  an  abortive  revolution.  And 
now,  just  as  the  third  attempt  had  failed,  and  in 
its  failure  had  discredited  the  great  organizations 
of  conspiracy  that  had  been  for  fifteen  years 
the  hope  of  Italian  patriotism,  Joseph  Mazzini,  a 
Genoese  a  year  younger  than  Garibaldi,  banished 
from  Piedmont  because  he  had  a  suspicious  habit 
of  walking  abroad  after  dark,  formed  the  new 
secret  society  of  Young  Italy  which  aimed  at  not 
only  the  political  but  the  social  and  moral  redemp- 
tion of  his  countrymen.  Garibaldi,  eager  to  hasten 
the  emancipation  of  his  country,  joined  Young 
Italy ;  but  in  the  first  plot  in  which  he  was  en- 
gaged his  confederates  failed  to  appear  at  the 
appointed  time,  and  he  was  forced  to  fly  from 
Genoa  for  his  life.  "  Here  begins  my  public 
career,"  he  says  in  his  memoirs. 

After  being  twice  captured  and  twice  escaping, 
he  made  his  way  on  foot,  disguised  as  a  peasant, 
to  Marseilles,  where,  on  opening  a  newspaper,  the 
first  thing  he  read  was  the  sentence  of  death  de- 
creed against  him  should  he  ever  be  caught  in 
Piedmont.  This  was  in  February,  1834.  Pro- 
scribed but  not  disheartened,  when  chance  offered 
he  resumed  his  seafaring.  But  mercantile  voyages 
grew  monotonous.  Should  he  offer  his  services  to 
the  Bey  of  Tunis,  wlio  was  seeking  a  Eurojjean  to 
take  charge  of  his  navy  ?     After  hesitation,  Gari- 


126  THRONE-MAKERS 

baldi  decided  "  no."  During  a  cholera  epidemic, 
he  volunteered  as  nurse  in  the  Marseilles  hospital. 
Finally  he  shipped  for  South  America.  Landing 
at  Rio  Janeiro,  he  fell  in  with  another  exile,  Ros- 
setti,  and  for  a  while  they  kept  a  shop.  Soon, 
however,  more  congenial  occupation  presented  it- 
self. 

Rio  Grande  do  Sul,  the  southernmost  province 
of  Brazil,  had  revolted  from  the  Empire  and  set 
up  a  republic,  which  it  was  struggling  to  maintain. 
Garibaldi,  who  could  never  resist  aiding  republi- 
cans, equipped  a  small  privateer,  on  which  he  and 
Rossetti,  with  twelve  companions,  set  sail  for  the 
south.  This  was  the  opening  of  a  life  of  adven- 
ture which  lasted  twelve  years,  and  which,  could 
we  trace  it  step  by  step,  would  be  found  a  nonpa- 
reil of  heroic  deeds  and  startling  dangers.  The 
political  and  social  condition  of  South  America 
then  resembled  in  lawlessness  that  period  in  Eu- 
ropean history  when  chivalry  had  its  rise  ;  when, 
as  a  foil  to  the  bullying  and  craft  and  greed  of  the 
many,  stood  out  the  courage  and  honor  and  cour- 
tesy of  the  few.  Garibaldi,  whether  by  sea  or 
land,  approved  himself  a  peerless  knight.  Follow- 
ing him,  we  should  witness  now  a  battle  of  gun- 
boats far  up  the  river  Parana,  until,  his  ammunition 
having  given  out,  he  loaded  the  cannon  with  the 
chain  cables  ;    or,  again,   we  should  undergo  the 


GARIBALDI  127 

horrors  of  a  shipwreck  near  the  mouth  of  La 
Plata,  or  join  in  a  desperate  battle  against  great 
odds  at  some  lonely  Paraguayan  ranch ;  we  should 
traverse  vast  pampas,  or  thrid  the  solitude  of 
trackless  forests  ;  we  should  know  hunger,  thirst, 
and  cold,  and  be  incessantly  attacking  or  attacked ; 
and  we  should  realize  that  although  these  cam- 
paigns seem  mere  border  forays  when  compared 
with  the  wars  of  modern  Europe  and  the  United 
States,  yet  they  settled  the  fate  of  territories  as 
large  as  France,  and  required  those  martial  quali- 
ties which  beget  heroism  in  any  crisis  under  any 
sky. 

Although  we  must  pass  all  this,  one  marking 
episode  in  Garibaldi's  life  at  that  time  ought  not 
to  be  forgotten.  His  ships  had  been  cast  away  in 
a  storm.  He  succeeded  in  swimming  to  shore,  but 
his  dearest  comrades  perished.  He  felt  lonely, 
dispirited,  and  though  he  was  soon  to  command 
another  cruiser,  the  excitements  of  war  could  no 
longer  dissipate  his  melancholy.  "  In  short,"  he 
says,  in  a  characteristic  passage  of  his  Autobio- 
graphy, "  I  had  need  of  a  human  being  to  love  me 
immediately,  —  to  have  one  near  without  whom  ex- 
istence was  growing  intolerable  to  me.  Although 
not  old,  I  understood  men  well  enough  to  know 
how  hard  it  is  to  find  a  true  friend.  A  woman  ? 
Yes,  a  woman  ;  for  I  always  deemed  her  the  most 


128  THRONE-MAKERS 

perfect  of  creatures,  and  —  whatever  may  be  said 
—  amongst  women  it  is  infinitely  easier  to  find  a 
loving  heart.  I  was  pacing  the  quarter-deck,  ru- 
minating my  dismal  thoughts,  and,  after  reasonings 
of  all  kinds,  I  decided  finally  to  seek  a  woman,  to 
draw  me  out  of  my  tiresome  and  unbearable  con- 
dition. I  cast  a  casual  glance  towards  the  Barra : 
that  was  the  name  of  a  rather  high  hill  at  the 
entrance  of  the  lagune,  toward  the  south,  on  which 
were  visible  some  simple  and  picturesque  habita- 
tions. There,  with  the  aid  of  the  glass,  I  discov- 
ered a  young  woman,  I  had  myself  set  ashore  in 
her  d,irection.  I  disembarked,  and,  going  towards 
the  house  where  was  the  object  of  my  expedition, 
I  had  not  reached  her  before  I  met  a  man  of  the 
place,  whom  I  had  known  at  the  beginning  of  our 
stay.  He  asked  me  to  take  coffee  in  his  house. 
We  entered,  and  the  first  person  who  met  my  gaze 
was  she  whose  appearance  had  caused  me  to  come 
ashore.  It  was  Anita,  the  mother  of  my  sons,  the 
companion  of  my  life  in  good  and  evil  fortune,  — 
the  woman  whose  courage  I  have  so  often  envied. 
"We  both  remained  rapt  and  speechless,  recipro- 
cally looking  at  each  other,  like  two  persons  who 
do  not  meet  for  the  first  time,  and  who  seek  in  the 
features  one  of  the  other  something  to  assist  recol- 
lection. At  last  I  greeted  her  and  said,  '  Thou 
must   be   mine.'     I  spoke   but  little  Portuguese, 


GARIBALDI  129 

and  uttered  these  hardy  words  in  Italian.  How- 
ever, I  was  magnetic  in  my  presumption.  I  had 
drawn  a  knot,  sealed  a  compact,  which  death  alone 
could  break." 

A  few  nights  later  Garibaldi  carried  Anita  off 
to  his  ship,  clandestinely  as  it  appears,  and  they 
were  wedded  when  they  reached  another  port. 
She  was  a  companion  matching  his  ideal :  she 
shared  his  wild  fortunes  and  hardships ;  she  was 
an  indefatigable  horsewoman,  a  dead-shot,  and 
upon  occasion  she  could  touch  off  a  cannon. 

After  years  of  fighting.  Garibaldi  obtained  a 
furlough,  gathered  a  drove  of  cattle,  and  journeyed 
across  Uruguay  to  Montevideo.  There  he  was 
reduced  to  teach  the  rudiments  of  arithmetic  in  a 
private  school,  picking  up  whatever  other  precari- 
ous pennies  he  could,  until  civil  war  broke  out  in 
Uruguay,  and  he  enlisted  on  the  side  of  the  peo- 
ple, struggling  to  free  themselves  from  a  blood- 
thirsty dictator.  Garibaldi's  exploits  as  a  guer- 
rilla and  corsair  had  made  him  famous,  and  now 
he  repeated  at  Montevideo  his  amazing  feats. 
From  among  his  countrymen  he  organized  an 
"Italian  Legion,"  which  proved  throughout  a  long 
service  that  Italians  could  and  would  fight,  —  two 
facts  which  scornful  Europe  was  loth  then  to  be- 
lieve. He  also  illustrated  his  perfect  disinterested- 
ness by  refusing  all  rewards  beyond  a  bare  means 


130  THRONE-MAKERS 

of  subsistence.  At  a  time  when  he  held  the  fate 
of  Montevideo  in  his  hand,  he  had  not  money  to 
buy  candles  to  light  the  poor  room  where  he  and 
his  family  were  dwelling. 

Thus,  giving  his  utmost  for  liberty  and  the  wel- 
fare of  strangers,  he  saw  the  years  pass  without 
bringing  the  one  thing  he  desired  most  of  all,  — 
the  chance  to  consecrate  himself  to  the  redemption 
of  Italy.  That  desire,  the  ruling  passion  of  his 
life,  had  followed  him  everywhere.  I  marvel  that 
any  materialists  exist ;  for  where,  in  the  material 
world,  shall  we  find  anything  comparable  to  the 
tenacity  of  ideas  ?  "  Think  not  to  preserve  them  by 
locking  them  in  an  iron  safe  ;  write  them  not  on 
stone,  which  crumbles,  but  on  the  human  soid,  and 
they  shall  be  indestructible.  Have  we  not  daily 
proof  that  against  remorse,  love,  hate,  ambition, 
all  the  powers  of  the  material  world  —  fire  or  frost, 
hunger,  disease,  persecution  —  dash  as  harmless  as 
vapor  against  adamant  ?  By  the  moral  precepts, 
by  which  Moses  awed  his  people  three  thousand 
years  ago,  we  are  awed.  They  are  permanent,  be- 
ing graven  on  something  more  durable  than  tables 
of  stone ;  and  it  matters  not  how  many  times  old 
Nile  is  renewed,  or  whether  Sinai  itself  wear  in 
dust  away. 

On  Garibaldi's  heart  of  hearts  "  Italy "  was 
written,  —  an    ideal  which   nothing  could  cancel. 


GARIBALDI  131 

At  length,  in  the  early  autumn  of  1846  news  came 
to  Montevideo  that  a  Liberal  Pope  had  been  elected 
at  Rome,  that  the  word  "  amnesty  "  had  been  ut- 
tered, and  that  the  Peninsula  was  throbbing  with 
splendid  hopes.  Each  succeeding  message  con- 
firmed the  presentiment  that  the  longed-for  day 
of  action  was  nigh.  Garibaldi,  subordinating  his 
hatred  of  priestcraft  to  his  patriotism,  wrote  to  ^ 
offer  his  sword  to  the  new  Pope,  to  whom  all  Ital- 
ians were  looking  as  the  leader  of  their  crusade 
for  freedom,  but  Pius  never  acknowledged  the 
offer.  Then  Garibaldi  and  some  threescore  of  the 
Legion  hired  a  brigantine,  which  they  named  La 
Speranza  (Hope),  and  on  Api-il  15,  1848,  bade 
the  Montevideans  farewell.  They  had  to  touch  at 
Santa  Pola,  on  the  coast  of  Spain,  for  water,  where 
they  learned  that  all  Europe  was  in  revolution, 
and  then  they  dropped  anchor  at  Nice  on  June  23. 
Over  Garibaldi's  head  the  death-sentence  still 
hung,  but  he  had  nothing  to  fear,  as  the  events  of 
the  past  six  months  had  wiped  out  old  memories.  "^ 
Those  six  months  had  had  no  parallel  in  modern 
European  history.  They  had  witnessed  the  tri- 
umph of  revolution  from  the  Douro  to  the  Don. 

Not  even  during  the  Napoleonic  upheaval  had 
modern  Europe  felt  a  convulsion  like  that  of  1848: 
for  government  and  order  were  as  necessary  to 
Napoleon  as  to  his  victims,  and  his  revolution  was 


V 


132  THRONE-MAKERS 

the  effort  of  one  lion  to  devour  foxes  and  wolves, 
—  of  one  preponderant  tyranny  to  absorb  many 
smaller  tyrannies ;  but  the  catastrophe  of  1848 
seemed,  to  anxious  observers,  to  endanger  civiliza- 
tion itself.  Society  was  dissolving  into  its  elements. 
The  many-headed  beast  had  risen,  ubiquitous,  ter- 
rific. Lop  off  one  head,  and  others  grew  from 
the  trunk.  What  substitute  could  possibly  be 
found  in  that  chaos  for  the  tottering  system? 
Nothing  seemed  certain  but  anarchy. 

That  was  the  year  when  sovereigns  were  sud- 
denly made  acquainted  with  their  lackeys'  stair- 
cases and  the  back  doors  of  their  palaces.  The 
Pope  escaped  from  Rome  in  the  livery  of  a  foot- 
man. Ferdinand,  Emperor  of  Austria,  fled  twice 
from  Vienna.  Louis  Philippe,  the  "  citizen  king  " 
of  the  French,  put  on  a  disguise,  and  slipped  away 
to  England.  Metternich,  rudely  interrupted  in 
his  diplomatic  game  of  chess,  barely  escaped  with 
his  life  to  London.  The  Crown  Prince  of  Prus- 
sia, subsequently  Emperor  of  Germany,  eluded  the 
angry  Berliners,  a  trusty  noble  driving  the  car- 
riage in  which  he  escaped.  There  was  a  scamper- 
ing of  petty  German  princes,  as  of  prairie-dogs 
at  the  sportsman's  approach.  Nobility,  whose 
ambition  hitherto  had  been  to  display  itself,  was 
now  wondrously  fond  of  burrows.  And  just  as 
the  frightened  upholders  of  absolutism  went  into 


GARIBALDI  133 

hiding,  the  apostles  of  democracy  emerged  from 
prisons  and  exile. 

Paper  constitutions,  grandiloquent  manifestoes, 
patriotic  resolutions,  doctrinaire  pamphlets,  were 
whirled  hither  and  thither  as  thick  as  autumn 
leaves.  Every  man  who  had  a  tongue  spoke ; 
speaking,  so  furious  was  the  din,  soon  loudened 
into  shouting.  But  the  Old  Regime  was  encamped 
in  no  Jericho  whose  walls  would  tumble  at  mere 
sound.  There  must  be  deeds  as  well  as  words  ; 
in  truth,  more  action  and  less  Babel  had  been 
wiser.  Committees  of  national  safety,  working- 
men's  unions,  civic  guards,  armies  of  the  people, 
sprang  into  existence,  and  it  is  wonderful  to  note 
with  what  quickness  officers  and  leaders  were 
found  to  command  them.  Universities  were  turned 
into  recruiting  stations  and  barracks  ;  students 
and  professors  became  soldiers.  Tliere  were  he- 
roic combats,  excesses,  reverses  bravely  borne. 
Gradually  the  fatal  lack  of  centre  and  organiza- 
tion could  not  be  concealed.  The  leaders  disputed 
as  to  measures ;  then  followed  misunderstandings, 
jealousies,  desertions.  Each  doctrinaire  cared  that 
his  plan,  rather  than  the  general  cause,  should  *^ 
prevail.  Each  sect,  each  race,  feared  that  it  would 
lose  should  its  rival  take  the  lead.  But  the  pur- 
pose of  monarchy  was  everywhere  the  same,  —  to 
recover  its  footing ;  and  the  agents  of  monarchy. 


134  THRONE-MAKERS 

cautiously  creeping  out  of  their  retreats,  began 
to  profit  by  the  divisions  among  their  enemies. 
Within  a  year  the  European  revolt  was  crushed. 
Nevertheless  its  lessons  abide.  It  taught  that 
despots  cannot  be  permanently  abolished  so  long 
as  a  large  majority  of  a  nation  require  despotic 
government,  and  the  proof  that  they  require  it  is 
the  fact  that  they  submit  to  it ;  whence  it  follows 
that  real  democracy  cannot  conquer  until  a  peo- 
ple be  educated  up  to  the  capacity  of  governing 
themselves.  It  taught  that  without  unity  among 
the  heads  and  obedience  among  the  members  no 
reform  can  succeed.  It  taught,  finally,  that  no 
society  which  has  once  attained  a  certain  level 
of  civilization  can  exist  in  a  state  of  anarchy ;  for 
when  anarchy  is  reached,  the  opportunity  of  the 
strongest  man,  the  tyrant,  offers,  and  the  pro- 
cess of  reconstruction  from  the  basis  of  absolutism 
begins. 

To  Liberals,  in  June,  1848,  however,  the  days 
of  tyranny  seemed  at  an  end ;  the  Golden  Age  of 
liberty,  constitutional  government,  and  the  brother- 
hood of  nations  seemed  to  have  dawned.  Gari- 
baldi learned  that  Lombardy  had  expelled  the 
Austrians  ;  that  Charles  Albert,  the  Piedmontese 
King,  had  drawn  his  sword  as  the  champion  of 
Italian  independence ;  and  that  the  Pope  and  the 
other  princes,  including  even  Bomba  of    Naples, 


GARIBALDI  135 

had  espoused  the  national  cause.  The  rapid  vic- 
tories of  the  spring  had  been  succeeded  by  military- 
inertia;  frantic  enthusiasm  had  given  place  to  a 
chatter  of  criticism  ;  but  not  even  those  who  grum- 
bled loudest  believed  as  yet  that  the  cause  was  in 
danger. 

Garibaldi  hurried  to  the  King's  headquarters, 
near  Mantua.  He  was  no  lover  of  royalty,  but  he 
would  support  any  king  honestly  fighting  in  behalf 
of  Italy.  Charles  Albert  granted  him  an  audience, 
but  avoided  accepting  his  offered  services,  telling 
him  that  he  had  better  consult  the  Minister  of 
War,  at  Turin.  To  Turin,  accordingly.  Garibaldi  \/ 
posted  back,  saw  that  official,  received  further  eva- 
sive replies,  and  departed  angry.  To  have  traveled 
seven  thousand  miles  over  sea  to  fight  for  his  coun- 
try's redemption,  only  to  be  treated  in  this  fashion, 
might  well  astound  a  blunt  soldier  who  had  sup- 
posed that  every  volunteer  would  be  welcomed. 
In  his  own  case  the  rebuff  was  peculiarly  aston- 
ishing, for  he  was,  presumably,  an  ally  whom  any 
commander  would  be  glad  to  secure.  Europe 
had  rung  with  the  fame  of  his  South  American 
career,  and  already  regarded  him  as  a  legendary 
hero.  Imagine  Charlemagne  refusing  Roland's 
aid  in  his  campaign  against  the  Paynims,  or  the 
old  Romans  turning  coldly  away  from  one  of  the 
great  Twin  Brethren ! 


136  THRONE-MAKERS 

Although  Garibaldi  would  have  despised  rea- 
sons of  state  which  deprived  him  of  the  right  of 
volunteering  against  Austria,  yet  the  King  had  to 
be  governed  by  them.  For  his  excuse  in  declaring 
war  had  been  that,  unless  he  interfered,  anarchy, 
followed  by  a  republic,  would  prevail  in  Lom- 
bardy.  To  be  consistent,  therefore,  he  had  to 
keep  clear  of  even  an  apparent  league  with  repub- 
licanism as  embodied  in  Garibaldi. 

Baffled  and  exasperated,  but  determined  not 
to  be  cut  off  from  all  activity,  Garibaldi  went 
to  Milan,  where  a  provisional  government  with 
republican  leanings  still  ruled.  By  it  he  and  his 
legionaries  were  hospitably  received,  and  sent  out, 
^  with  a  considerable  body  of  raw  recruits,  to  harass 
the  Austrians  along  the  lakes.  In  a  few  weeks, 
however,  the  main  Austrian  army  had  reconquered 
Lombardy,  and  the  Garibaldians  were  driven  to 
take  refuge  across  the  Swiss  frontier. 

Garibaldi,  like  a  true  knight-errant,  now  went 
forth  in  search  of  another  chance  to  do  battle  for 
freedom.  At  Florence  the  republicans  did  him 
honor,  but  were  waiy  of  asking  him  to  command 
their  troops,  the  fact  being  that  each  disti'ict  had 
leaders  of  its  own,  and  a  host  of  zealous  aspirants, 
who  were  patriotically  disinclined  to  make  way  for 
even  the  most  distinguished  knight-errant.  At 
Rome,  whence  Pius  IX  had  fled,  the  revolutionists 


GARIBALDI  137 

gave  him  a  warmer  greeting,  and  when,  in  Febru- 
ary, 1849,  they  set  up  a  republic,  —  Garibaldi 
having  made  a  motion  to  that  effect  in  the  Roman 
Assembly,  —  they  made  him  second  in  command 
of  their  army.  And  now,  properly  speaking,  the 
tale  of  Garibaldi's  European  exploits  begins. 

We  cannot  follow  in  detail  the  story  of  the 
defense  of  Rome  against  the  French  troops  sent 
thither  by  the  perfidious  Louis  Napoleon,  and  their 
allies  from  Spain  and  Naples  ;  yet  it  were  well 
worth  oiu*  while  to  give  an  hour  to  deeds  so  bril- 
liant, so  noble,  so  picturesque,  —  to  pass  from  the 
Assembly  Hall,  where  Mazzini,  the  indomitable 
dreamer,  was  the  dictator,  to  the  fortifications 
where  band  after  band  of  volunteers,  speaking 
many  dialects,  clothed  in  many  costumes,  were  re- 
solved to  ffive  their  lives  for  freedom  !  We  should 
see  Lucian  Manara,  a  modern  knight,  captain  of 
a  legion  of  brave  men ;  we  should  see  Mameli,  the 
blond  poet-soldier,  a  mere  lad  ;  and  the  brothers 
Dandolo,  and  Medici  and  Nino  Bixio,  and  many 
another  doomed  to  win  renown  by  an  early  death 
there,  or  there  to  begin  a  career  which  became 
a  necessary  strand  in  Italy's  regeneration.  But, 
most  conspicuous  of  all,  we  should  see  Garibaldi, 
for  whom  the  legionaries  and  their  leaders  had 
such  a  feeling  as  the  Knights  of  the  Round  Table 
for  Arthur  their  King.      Call  it  loyalty,  't  is  not 


138  THRONE-MAKERS 

enough ;  call  it  filial  affection,  something  remains 
unexpressed ;  call  it  fascination,  enthusiasm,  sor- 
/  eery,  —  each  term  helps  the  definition,  though 
none  singly  suffices.  His  was,  indeed,  that  eldest 
sorcery  which  binds  the  hearts  of  men  to  their 
hero,  —  that  power  which  reveals  itself  as  an  ideal 
stronger  than  danger  or  hardship  or  disease,  some- 
thing to  worship,  to  love,  to  die  for. 

During  her  five-and-twenty  centuries,  Rome  had 
seen  many  strange  captains,  but  none  more  original 
than  this,  her  latest  defender,  from  the  pampas 
of  South  America.  In  person  he  was  of  middle 
stature ;  his  hair  and  beard  were  of  a  brown  in- 
clining to  red  ;  his  eyes  blue,  more  noteworthy  for 
their  expression  than  for  their  color ;  his  mouth, 
so  far  as  it  could  be  seen  under  the  moustache, 
was  firm,  but  capable  of  an  irresistible  smile.  His 
soldiers,  remembering  his  aspect  in  battle,  spoke 
of  his  face  as  "  leonine  ; "  women,  caught  perhaps 
by  the  charm  rather  than  the  cut  of  his  features, 
thought  him  beautiful.  And  as  if  Nature  had 
not  done  enough  to  mark  her  hero,  he  adopted  on 
his  return  to  Europe  the  dress  which  he  had  worn 
in  South  America,  — a  small,  plumed  cap,  the  gray- 
ish-white cloak  or  poncho  lined  with  red,  the  red 
flannel  shirt,  the  trousers  and  boots  of  the  Uru- 
guayan herdsmen  and  guerrillas. 

During  that   siege   of  Rome,   Europe  came    to 


GARIBALDI  139 

know  Garibaldi  and  his  red-shirted  companions, 
who  were  equally  bizarre  in  character  and  in 
costume,  —  a  troop  of  poets,  students,  dreamers, 
vagabonds,  and  adventurers,  —  who,  with  the  nu- 
cleus of  the  Legion  from  Montevideo,  were  capa- 
ble, under  their  chieftain's  guidance,  of  splendid 
achievements.  Their  victories  against  the  Neapo- 
litans at  Palestrina  and  Velletri ;  their  stubborn 
defense  of  Rome  against  the  overwhelming  armies 
of  France ;  their  bravery  at  the  Villa  Pamfili ; 
their  desperate  struggle  to  hold  the  Vascello,  where 
Manara  was  killed ;  their  unwilling  but  inevitable 
yielding  of  the  outposts,  and  finally  of  the  inner 
breastworks,  —  made  up  a  tale  of  heroism  which 
could  be  matched  only  at  Venice  in  that  year  of 
waning  revolution. 

But  Europe  had  declared  that  there  should  be 
no  republic  at  Rome,  and  after  nine  weeks'  gal- 
lantry the  city  capitulated  to  the  French,  who 
represented  the  cause  of  reaction.  Garibaldi, 
however,  did  not  surrender.  On  the  day  when 
the  French  made  their  entry  by  one  gate,  he 
marched  out  of  another,  followed  by  nearly  four 
thousand  soldiers.  He  wound  across  the  Cam- 
pagna,  and  then  for  twenty-nine  days  he  led  his  ' 
troop  among  the  Apennines,  evading  now  the 
French  who  pressed  on  the  rear,  now  the  Austri- 
ans,  who  harassed  both  flanks  and  tlireatened  to 


140  TIIROXE-MAKERS 

bar  the  advance.  The  little  army  dwindled,  but 
Garibaldi  held  bis  purpose  to  reach  Venice,  where 
the  Austrian  tyrants  had  not  yet  forced  their 
return.  At  length,  however,  in  the  little  republic 
of  San  Marino  he  was  surrounded.  All  but  two 
hundred  of  his  followers  disbanded ;  with  the 
remainder  he  eluded  the  enemy's  cordon,  reached 
the  coast  at  Cesenatico,  seized  some  fishing-boats, 
and  embarked  for  Venice.  Mid-voyage,  a  fleet  of 
Austrian  cruisers  came  upon  them  and  opened 
fire.  As  best  they  could  the  fugitives  landed,  with 
Austrian  pursuers  at  their  heels.  Garibaldi  and 
one  companion  bore  Anita  in  dying  condition  — 
she  had  followed  the  retreat  on  horseback  all  the 
way  from  Rome  —  to  a  wood-cutter's  hut,  where 
she  died.     A  moment  later  Garibaldi  had  to  fly. 

Of  that  retreat,  and  his  subsequent  hair-breadth 
escapes  in  being  smuggled  across  Italy,  he  has  left 
in  his  memoirs  a  thrilling  account.  For  a  second 
time  he  tasted  the  bitterness  of  exile :  his  first 
refuge  was  Genoa,  but  the  Piedmontese  govern- 
ment, timid  after  defeat,  informed  him  that  he 
must  depart ;  he  was  expelled  from  Turin  at  the 
instigation  of  the  French ;  England  warned  him 
that  he  must  be  gone  from  Gibraltar  within  a 
week.  Only  in  semi-savage  Morocco  did  he  at 
last  find  shelter  ;  thence,  after  a  few  months,  he 
came  to  New  York.     Consider  who  it  was  that 


GARIBALDI  141 

Europe  thus  outlawed,  and  what  was  his  crime. 
He  was  a  man  whose  life  had  been  a  long  devotion 
to  human  liberty,  and  whose  most  recent  guilt  was 
to  have  attempted  to  prevent  foreign  despots  from 
reenslaving  his  countrymen.  A  system  is  judged 
by  the  men  it  persecutes. 

Wifeless,  homeless,  chagrined  by  the  thought 
that  Italy  had  waged  her  war  of  independence 
only  to  be  beaten,  Garibaldi  began  his  second 
wanderings.  A  real  Odyssey  we  may  call  it, 
with  its  strange  happenings.  For  a  year  the  hero  \/ 
of  Rome  earned  a  bare  livelihood  making  candles 
in  Meucci's  factory  on  Staten  Island ;  then  he 
shipped  for  Central  and  South  A  merica ;  cap- 
tained a  cargo  of  guano  from  Lima  to  Canton, 
and  a  cargo  of  tea  back  to  Lima ;  brought  a  ship 
laden  with  copper,  round  Cape  Horn  to  Boston  ; 
and  finally,  in  May,  1854,  he  dropped  anchor  at 
Genoa,  where  the  government  no  longer  feared 
his  presence.  AYith  the  proceeds  of  his  mercan- 
tile ventures,  he  bought  Caprera,  —  a  mere  rock, 
which  juts  out  of  the  Tuscan  Sea,  near  the  north- 
ern tip  of  Sardinia.  There,  "  like  some  tired  eagle 
on  a  crag  remote,"  he  dwelt  five  years,  apparently  i^ 
oblivious  to  the  passing  current  of  events,  and 
wholly  intent  on  coaxing  a  few  vines  and  vegeta- 
bles to  grow  on  his  wind-swept  rock. 

Early  in  1859  a  messenger  summoned  Garibaldi 


142  THROXE-MAKERS 

from  his  hermitage  to  Turin.  This  summons  was 
not  unexpected.  For  months  the  world  had  re- 
garded war  in  Italy  as  inevitable,  and  now  war 
was  on  the  point  of  breaking  out. 

How  had  this  come  to  pass  ?  After  her  defeat  in 
184:9,  Piedmont,  the  little  northwestern  kingdom  of 
four  million  souls,  had  sturdily  set  about  reform- 
ing herself.  She  stood  firmly  by  the  constitutional 
government  adopted  in  1848 ;  she  strengthened 
her  army  and  her  navy ;  she  took  education  out 
of  the  hands  of  the  Jesuits :  she  encouraged  com- 
merce, industry,  and  agriculture.  Thus  she  proved 
to  Europe  that  Italians  could  govern  themselves 
by  as  good  a  political  system  as  then  existed :  to 
all  the  other  Italians,  groaning  under  Austrian,  or 
Bourbon,  or  Papal  tyranny,  she  proved  that  they 
might  look  to  her  to  lead  the  Italian  cause. 

This  marvelous  attainment  was  due  primarily 
to  Count  Cavour,  the  statesman  who,  since  1850; 
had  been  almost  continuously  prime  minister  of 
Piedmont ;  and.  in  the  second  place,  to  Victor 
Emanuel,  the  shrewd,  honest,  chivalrous  King, 
worthy  to  be  the  visible  symbol  of  Italy's  patri- 
otism. But  Cavour  had  realized  from  the  begin- 
ning that,  however  strong  he  might  make  Pied- 
mont, she  would  not  be  able  singly  to  cope  with 
Austria :  four  millions  against  thirty-five  millions 
—  the  odds  were  too  ffreat !      So  he  labored  to 


GARIBALDI  143 

bring  Piedmont  into  the  stream  of  European  life  ,♦ 
he  allied  her  to  France  and  England  in  the  Crimean 
War ;  and  now,  at  the  beginning  of  1859  he  had 
persuaded  Napoleon  III  to  march  the  armies  of 
France  into  Italy  to  join  Piedmont  in  expelling 
the  Austrians. 

All  this  had  been  brought  about  against  great 
hindrances,  not  the  least  of  which  was  the  keeping 
in  check  the  Italian  conspirators.  Since  the  days 
of  the  Carbonari,  a  certain  number  of  Italians  had 
hoped  to  set  up  a  republic.  Mazzini,  now  the 
chief  leader  of  conspiracy,  was  uncompromisingly 
republican,  holding  so  little  faith  in  the  methods 
of  Cavour  and  the  Constitutional  Monarchists 
that  he  never  hesitated  to  hatch  plots  against  them 
as  well  as  against  the  Austrians.  Between  these 
two  irreconcilable  parties  Garibaldi  was  the  link. 
By  preference  a  republican,  he  yet  recognized  Vic- 
tor Emanuel  as  the  only  practicable  standard- 
bearer,  and  he  therefore  fought  loyally  under  him  ; 
but  he  distrusted  Cavour,  scorned  diplomacy,  and 
abhorred  Napoleon  III.  In  his  exuberant  way,  he 
insisted  that  Italians  could,  if  they  would,  recover 
independence  without  begging  the  rogue,  who  had 
crushed  Rome  ten  years  before,  to  succor  them. 

A  volunteer  corps,  called  tlie  Hunters  of  the 
Alps,  was  accordingly  organized,  with  the  double 
purpose  of  using  Garibaldi's   skill  as  a  guerrilla 


lu  tiironp:-makers 

chieftain  against  the  Austrians,  and  his  unique 
popularity  in  drawing  all  sorts  of  partisans  to 
support  the  national  war.  He  suspected  that  the 
government  was  not  wholly  ingenuous ;  he  com- 
plained that  his  volunteers  had  to  swallow  many 
snubs  from  the  regulars ;  he  chafed  at  being 
responsible  to  any  superior :  but  the  fact  that  he 
had  at  last  a  chance  of  striking  the  oppressors  of 
Italy  outweighed  everything  else. 

Despite  the  shortness  of  the  war  of  1859,  Gari- 
baldi and  his  Hunters  proved  of  real  service  in  it. 
Varese,  Como,  remember  their  valor  still ;  and 
had  not  Napoleon  III  suspended  hostilities  after 
the  great  victory  of  Solferino,  the  Garibaldians 
might  have  redeemed  the  Tyrol.  But  Napoleon's 
peace  of  Villafranca,  while  it  gave  Lombardy  to 
Piedmont,  left  Venetia  in  the  hands  of  the  Aus- 
trians, and  stopped  further  operations  in  the  north 
at  that  time.  During  the  autumn,  however.  Gari- 
baldi, with  many  of  his  volunteers,  went  to  Tus- 
cany, where  a  provisional  government  was  then 
awaiting  the  propitious  moment  for  annexation 
to  Victor  Emanuel's  kingdom.  The  situation  was 
very  ticklish,  requiring  careful  diplomacy  :  Gari- 
baldi, who  shared  with  General  Fanti  the  military 
command,  wished  to  have  done  with  diplomacy, 
to  call  out  one  hundred  thousand  volunteers,  and 
to  rely  on  them  to  disentangle  all  complications. 


GARIBALDI  145 

Irritated  at  having  his  plan  overruled,  he  resigned 
his  command  and  withdrew  to  Caprera. 

Within  three  months,  however,  he  was  called 
from  his  retreat.  Secret  agents  brought  word 
that  "  something  could  be  done  "  in  Sicily,  where 
for  a  long  time  Mazzinians  had  been  preparing 
a  revolt.  It  needed,  they  said,  but  Garibaldi's 
presence  to  redeem  the  island  from  Bourbon  mis- 
rule. He  could  not  resist  the  temptation.  Trusty 
lieutenants  of  his  had  collected  arms  and  ammu- 
nition, hired  two  steamers  and  enrolled  volunteers. 
At  Genoa,  where  these  preparations  w^ei-e  making, 
nobody,  except  the  government  officials,  was  igno- 
rant of  their  jjurpose.  The  government,  however, 
pretended  not  to  see.  Cavour  could  not  openly 
abet  an  exj^edition  against  a  power  with  which 
Piedmont  was  not  at  war ;  neither  did  he  wish  to 
hinder  an  expedition  for  whose  success  he  and  all 
Italian  patriots  prayed.  So  he  discreetly  closed 
his  eyes. 

On  the  night  of  May  5,  1860,  Garibaldi  and 
10G7  followers  embarked  on  their  two  steamers 
near  Genoa  and  vanished  into  the  darkness.  For 
a  week  thereafter  Europe  wondered  whither  they 
were  bound,  —  whetlier  against  the  Pa}>al  States  or 
Na])les  ;  then  the  telegraph  reported  that  they  had 
landed  at  Marsala,  on  the  morning  of  May  11,  just 
in  time  to  escape   two  Neapolitan  cruisers  which 


146  THRONE-MAKERS 

had  been  watching  for  them.  From  that  moment, 
day  by  day,  with  increasing  astonishment,  the 
world  followed  the  progress  of  Garibaldi  and  his 
Thousand.  No  achievement  like  theirs  has  been 
chronicled  in  many  centuries.  They  set  out,  a 
thousand  filibusters,  scantily  equipped  and  un- 
drilled,  to  free  an  island  of  two  and  a  half  million 
inhabitants,  an  island  guarded  by  an  army  fifty 
thousand  strong,  with  forts  and  garrisons  in  all 
its  ports,  and  having  quick  communication  with 
Naples,  where  the  Bourbon  King  had  six  million 
more  subjects  from  whom  to  recruit  his  forces. 
Grant  that  the  Sicilians  fervently  sympathized 
with  Garibaldi,  yet  they  were  too  wary  to  commit 
themselves  before  they  had  indications  that  he 
would  win  ;  grant  that  the  Bourbon  troops  were 
half-hearted  and  ludicrously  superstitious,  —  many 
of  them  believed  that  the  Garibaldians  were  wiz- 
"^  ards,  bullet-proof,  —  yet  they  had  been  trained  to 
fight,  they  were  well-armed,  and  by  their  numbers 
alone  were  formidable.  That  they  would  run  away 
could  not  be  assumed  by  the  little  band  of  libera- 
tors, any  more  than  Childe  Roland  could  suppose 
that  the  grim  monsters  who  threatened  his  advance 
would  vanish  when  he  upon  his  slug-horn  blew. 

And  in  truth  the  Bourbon  soldiers  did  not  run. 
At  Calatifimi  the  Garibaldians  beat  them  only 
after  a  fierce  encounter ;  at  Palermo  there  was  a 


GARIBALDI  147 

desperate  struggle  ;  at  Milazzo,  a  resistance  which 
might,  if  prolonged,  have  destroyed  the  expedi- 
tion. In  every  instance  it  seemed  as  if  the  Bour- 
bons might  have  won  had  they  but  displayed  a 
little  more  nerve,  another  half  hour's  persistence  ; 
but  it  was  always  the  Garibaldians  who  had  the 
precious  reserve  of  pluck  and  strength  to  draw 
upon,  and  they  always  won.  Their  capture  of 
Palermo,  a  walled  city  of  two  hundred  thousand 
inhabitants,  defended  by  many  regiments  on  land 
and  by  men-of-war  in  the  harbor,  ranks  highest 
among  their  exploits.  Less  than  a  month  after 
quitting  Genoa,  they  had  liberated  more  than  half 
the  island  and  had  set  up  a  provisional  govern- 
ment. By  the  first  of  August  only  two  or  three 
fortresses  had  not  surrendered  to  them. 

And  now  questions  of  diplomacy  came  in  to  dis- 
turb the  swift  current  of  conquest.  Garibaldi  de- 
termined to  cross  to  the  mainland,  redeem  Naples, 
march  on  to  Rome,  and  from  the  Capitol  hail 
Victor  Emanuel  King  of  Italy.  Cavour  saw  great 
danger  in  this  plan.  At  any  moment,  a  defeat 
would  jeopard  the  positions  already  gained  ;  an 
attack  on  the  Pope's  domain  would  bring  Louis 
Napoleon  and  Austria  to  his  rescue,  and  might 
entail  a  war  in  which  the  just-formed  Kingdoui  of 
Italy  would  be  broken  up ;  furthermore,  Cavour 
believed  that  assimilation  ought  to  keep  pace  with 


148  THRONE-MAKERS 

annexation.  He  knew  that  it  would  require  long 
training;  to  raise  the  Italians  of  the  south,  cor- 
rupted  by  ages  of  hideous  misrule,  to  the  level  of 
their  northern  kinsmen. 

Such  considerations  as  these  could  not,  however, 
deter  Garibaldi.  He  grew  wroth  at  the  thought 
that  any  foreigner  —  were  he  even  the  Emperor  of 
the  French  —  should  be  consulted  by  Italians  in 
the  achievement  of  their  independence.  Eluding 
both  the  Neapolitan  and  the  Piedmontese  cruisers, 
he  crossed  to  the  mainland  and  took  Reggio  after 
a  sharp  fight.  From  that  moment  his  progress 
towards  the  capital  resembled  a  triumph.  And 
when,  on  September  7,  accompanied  by  only  a  few 
officers,  he  entered  Naples,  though  there  were  still 
a  dozen  or  more  Bourbon  regiments  in  garrison 
there,  the  soldiers  joined  with  the  civilians  and  the 
loud-throathed  lazzaroni  in  acclaiming  him  their 
deliverer.  Yet  only  a  few  hours  before  their  King 
had  sneaked  off,  too  craven  to  defend  himself,  too 
much  detested  to  be  defended.  Think  what  it 
meant  that  this  should  happen,  —  that  the  sover- 
eign, the  source  of  honor,  the  fountain  of  justice, 
the  symbol  of  the  life  and  integrity  of  the  state, 
should  not  find  in  his  own  palace  one  loyal  sword 
unsheathed  in  his  defense,  even  though  the  loyalty 
were  hired,  like  that  of  the  eight  hundred  Swiss 
who  gave  their  lives  for  Louis  XVI !     By  an  inev- 


GARIBALDI  149 

itable  penalty,  Bourbon  misrule  in  Naples  passed 
vilely  away  ;  it  had  been,  as  Gladstone  declared, 
the  embodied  "  negation  of  God  :  "  even  in  its  col- 
lapse and  ruin  there  was  nothing  tragic,  portend- 
ing strength ;  there  was  only  the  negative  energy 
of  putrefaction. 

Having  taken  measures  for  temporarily  govern- 
ing Naples,  Garibaldi  prepared  for  a  last  encounter 
with  the  Bourbons.  King  Francis  still  commauded 
an  army  of  forty  thousand  men  along  the  Vol- 
turno,  near  Capua.  There  Garibaldi,  with  hardly 
a  third  of  that  number,  fought  and  won  a  pitched 
battle  on  October  1.  A  month  later  he  welcomed 
Victor  Emanuel  as  sovereign  of  the  kingdom  which 
he  and  his  Thousand  had  liberated.  The  republi- 
cans, instigated  by  Mazzini,  had  wished  to  postpone, 
if  they  could  not  prevent,  annexation  ;  but  Gari- 
baldi, whose  patriotic  instinct  was  truer  than  their 
partisanship,  insisted  that  Naples  and  Sicily  should 
be  united  to  the  Kingdom  of  Italy  under  the  House 
of  Savoy.  In  all  modern  histoiy  there  is  no  par- 
allel to  his  bestowal  of  his  conquests  on  the  King, 
as  there  is  nothing  nobler  than  his  complete  disin-  ^ 
terestedness.  He  declined  all  honors,  titles,  sti- 
pends, and  offices  for  himself,  and  departed,  almost 
secretly,  from  Naples  for  Caj)rera  the  day  after  he 
had  consigned  the  government  to  its  new  lord. 

Fortune  has  one  gift  which  she  begrudges  even 


150  THRONE-MAKERS 

to  her  darlings :  she  does  not  allow  them  to  die  at 
the  summit  of  their  career.  Either  too  soon  for 
their  country's  good,  or  too  late  for  their  personal 
fame,  she  sends  death  to  dispatch  them.  Pericles, 
Cavour,  Lincoln,  were  snatched  away  prematurely; 
Themistocles  and  Grant  should  have  prayed  to 
be  released  before  they  had  slipped  below  their 
zenith.  So,  too.  Garibaldi  lacked  nothing  but 
that,  after  having  redeemed  a  kingdom  by  one  of 
the  most  splendid  expeditions  in  history,  and  after 
having  given  it  to  the  unifier  of  his  fatherland, 
he  should  have  vanished  from  the  earth.  Thanks 
to  a  kindlier  fortune,  the  old  Hebrew  prophets 
were  translated,  and  the  Homeric  heroes  were 
borne  off  invisible,  at  the  perfect  moment.  But 
while  Garibaldi  lacked  this  epic  finale  to  his  epic 
career,  the  closing  decades  of  his  life  were  as  char- 
acteristic as  any. 

In  the  spring  of  1861  he  reappeared  on  the 
scene  at  the  opening  of  the  first  parliament  of  the 
Kingdom  of  Italy,  to  which  he  had  been  chosen 
deputy  by  many  districts.  He  came,  not  jubilant 
but  angry.  Nice,  his  home,  had  been  ceded  to 
France  in  payment  for  French  aid  in  the  war  of 
1859 :  against  Cavour,  who  had  consented  to  this 
bargain.  Garibaldi  conceived  the  most  intense  ha- 
tred, and  on  the  floor  of  the  House  he  fulminated 
at  the  Prime  Minister  whose  "treason  had  made 


GARIBALDI  151 

Garibaldi  a  foreigner  in  his  native  land."  He 
complained,  further,  because  the  officers  and  sol- 
diers of  the  Garibaldian  army  had  not  been  gener- 
ously treated  by  the  government.  The  outburst 
was  most  deplorable.  Many  feared  that  the  hero's 
testiness  might  lead  to  civil  war ;  and  though  the 
King  arranged  a  meeting,  in  the  hope  of  bringing 
about  a  reconciliation,  Garibaldi  went  from  it  with 
bitterness  in  his  heart.  Six  weeks  later,  on  June 
6,  Cavour,  stricken  by  fever,  died  when  his  coun- 
try needed  him  most.  Little  did  Garibaldi  realize 
that  in  the  great  statesman's  death  he  was  losing 
the  man  who  had  been  indisjjensable  to  his  suc- 
cess in  Sicily,  and  whose  judgment  was  needed  to 
direct  Garibaldian  impulses  to  a  fruitful  end. 

Only  Rome  and  Venetia  now  remained  ununited 
to  the  Kingdom  of  Italy :  in  Rome  a  French  gar- 
rison propped  the  Pope's  despised  temporal  power ; 
in  Venetia  the  Austrian  regiments  held  fast.  To 
rescue  the  Italians  still  in  bondage,  and  to  com- 
plete the  unification  of  Italy,  were  henceforth  Gari- 
baldi's aims.  He  paid  no  heed  to  the  diplomatic 
embarrassments  which  his  schemes  might  create ; 
for  as  usual  he  regarded  diplomacy  as  a  device  by 
which  cowards,  knaves,  and  traitors  thwarted  the  </ 
desires  of  patriots. 

In  the  summer  of  18G2,  therefore,  he  recruited 
three  or  four  thousand  volunteers  in  Sicily,  raised 


152  THRONE-MAKERS 

the  war-cry,  "Rome  or  death,"  crossed  to  the 
mainland,  and  had  to  be  forcibly  stopped  by  royal 
troops  at  Aspromonte.  In  the  brief  skirmish  he 
was  wounded,  and  for  many  months  was  confined 
at  Varignano,  whither  flocked  admirers  —  men, 
women,  and  youths —  from  all  parts  of  Europe. 
There  is  no  doubt  that  Rattazzi,  then  the  premier, 
had  connived  at  the  expedition,  hoping  to  repeat 
Cavour's  master-stroke ;  but  the  conditions  were 
different  from  those  of  1860,  and  the  Premier  but 
illustrated  the  truth  that  talent  cannot  even  copy 
genius  judiciously.  Moreover,  by  allowing  Gari- 
baldi to  go  so  far  and  by  then  arresting  him,  Rat- 
tazzi  subjected  the  government  to  a  dangerous 
strain  ;  for  Garibaldi's  popularity  was  immense, 
and  even  those  of  his  countrymen  who  insisted  that 
no  citizen  —  however  distinguished  his  services  — 
should  be  permitted  to  live  above  the  law,  and  to 
wage  war  when  he  pleased,  were  as  eager  as  he 
that  Rome  should  be  emancipated. 

Untaught  by  experience,  Rattazzi  connived  at  a 
similar  expedition  five  years  later.  For  several 
weeks  Garibaldi  went  about  openly  preaching 
another  crusade.  When  the  French  government 
asked  for  explanations,  Rattazzi  had  Garibaldi 
arrested  and  escorted  to  Caprera.  A  dozen  men- 
of-war  sailed  round  and  round  the  rock,  forbidding 
any  one  to  approach  or  quit  it.     But  one  night 


GARIBALDI  153 

Garibaldi  escaped  in  a  tiny  wherry,  and  a  few 
days  later  he  led  a  band  of  crusaders  across  the 
Papal  frontier.  They  met  the  French  troops  at 
Mentana,  were  worsted  and  dispersed ;  and  again 
Garibaldi  was  locked  up  in  the  fortress  of  Vari- 
gnano,  while  one  party  denounced  the  government 
for  ingratitude  towaixls  the  beloved  hero,  and  an- 
other denounced  it  for  treating  him  as  a  privileged 
person  who  might,  when  the  impulse  seized  him, 
embroil  the  country  in  war.  If  we  regard  the  ac- 
quirement of  the  methods  of  constitutional  gov- 
ernment and  of  respect  for  law  and  order  as  the 
chief  need  of  the  Italians  at  that  time,  we  can 
only  regret  the  agitation  and  expeditions  which 
Garibaldi  conducted,  to  the  detriment  of  his  coun- 
try's progi'ess. 

Meanwhile,  in  1866,  Venetia  had  been  restored 
to  her  kinsfolk,  as  the  result  of  the  brief  conflict 
in  which  Italy  and  Prussia  allied  themselves  against 
Austria.  Garibaldi  organized  another  corps  of 
Hunters  of  the  Alps,  but  the  shortness  of  the 
campaign  prevented  him,  as  in  1859,  from  going 
far.  In  1870  the  war  between  France  and  Prussia 
enabled  the  Italians  to  take  possession  of  Rome 
as  soon  as  the  French  garrison  was  withdrawn  ;  so 
that  Italy  owed  the  comj)letion  of  her  unity,  not  to 
li(!r  own  sword,  but  to  a  lucky  turn  in  the  quarrels 
of  her  neighbors. 


154  THRONE-MAKERS 

No  sooner  had  the  French  Empire  collapsed, 
and  the  French  Republic  was  seen  to  be  terribly 
beset  by  the  Germans,  than  Garibaldi  offered  his 
services  to  her.  He  was  assigned*  to  the  command 
of  the  Army  of  the  Vosges,  a  nondescript  corps, 
which  more  than  once  gave  proof  of  bravery, 
although  it  could  not  match  the  superior  numbers 
and  discipline  of  Moltke's  men.  The  French  gave 
him  scanty  thanks  for  his  services,  and  at  the  end 
of  the  war  he  returned  home. 

During  the  next  ten  years  he  was  either  at 
Rome,  arraigning  the  government,  the  fallen  Pa- 
pacy, and  the  wastefulness  of  the  monarchy  ;  or 
he  was  making  triumphal  progresses  through  the 
land,  sure  everywhere  of  being  treated  as  an  idol ; 
^  or  he  stayed  in  his  Caprera  hermitage,  inditing 
letters  in  behalf  of  political  extremists,  Nihilists, 
fanatics.  Yet  his  popularity  did  not  wane ;  his 
countrymen  regarded  him  more  than  ever  as  a 
privileged  person,  whose  senile  extravagances  were 
not  to  be  taken  too  seriously.  They  loved  his  in- 
tentions ;  they  revered  him  for  the  achievements 
of  his  prime ;  and  when,  on  June  2,  1882,  he  fell 
asleep  in  his  Caprera  home,  all  Italy  put  on  mourn- 
ing, and  the  world,  conscious  that  it  had  lost  a 
hero,  grieved. 

On  his  sixty-fifth  birthday  (July  4,  1872)  he 
drew  his  own  portrait  thus  :  "  A  tempestuous  life, 


GARIBALDI  155 

composed  of  good  and  of  evil,  as  I  believe  of  the 
large  part  of  the  world.  A  consciousness  of  hav- 
ing sought  the  good  always,  for  me  and  for  my 
kind.  If  I  have  sometimes  done  wrong,  certainly 
I  did  it  involuntarily.  A  hater  of  tyranny  and 
falsehood,  with  the  profound  conviction  that  in 
them  is  the  principal  origin  of  the  ills  and  of  the 
corruption  of  the  human  race.  Hence  a  republi- 
can, this  being  the  system  of  honest  folk,  the 
normal  system,  willed  by  the  majority,  and  con- 
sequently not  imposed  with  violence  and  wdth 
imposture.  Tolerant  and  not  exclusive,  incapable  ^y 
of  imposing  my  republicanism  by  force,  on  the 
English,  for  instance,  if  they  are  contented  with 
the  government  of  Queen  Victoria.  And,  however 
contented  they  may  be,  their  government  should 
be  considered  republican.  A  republican,  but  ever- 
more persuaded  of  the  necessity  of  an  honest  and 
temporary  dictatorship  at  the  head  of  those  nations 
which,  like  France,  Spain,  and  Italy,  are  the  vic- 
tims of  a  most  pernicious  Byzantinisra.  ...  I  was 
copious  in  praises  of  the  dead,  fallen  on  fields  of 
battle  for  liberty.  I  praised  less  the  living,  espe- 
cially my  comrades.  When  I  felt  myself  urged  by 
just  rancor  against  those  who  wronged  me,  I  strove 
to  placate  my  resentment  before  speaking  of  tlie 
offense  and  of  the  offender.  In  every  writing  of 
mine,  I  have  always   attacked   clericalism,  more 


1 ;-)( ;  T 1 1  llO  N  E-:\I  A  K  E  lis 

particularly  because  in  it  I  have  always  believed 
that  I  found  the  prop  of  every  despotism,  of  every 
vice,  of  every  corruption.  The  priest  is  the  per- 
sonification of  lies,  the  liar  is  a  thief,  the  thief  is 
a  murderer,  —  and  I  could  find  for  the  priest  a 
series  of  infamous  corollaries." 

Thus  he  read  his  own  character,  and  we  need 
not  subject  it  to  a  searching  analysis.  In  action  lay 
his  strength.  He  trusted  instinct  against  any  ar- 
gument. Hence  the  single-minded  zeal  with  which 
he  plunged  into  evei-y  entei-prise;  hence,  too,  his 
inability  to  weigh  other  policies  than  his  own,  and 
his  distrust,  often  intensified  into  unreasoning  pre- 
judice, of  those  who  differed  from  him.  If  his 
kindly,  generous  nature  often  made  him  the  dupe 
of  schemers,  the  wonder  is  that  they  did  not  be- 
guile him  into  irreparable  excesses.  He  was  saved 
partly  by  a  thread  of  common  sense  and  partly  by 
self-respect  akin  to  vanity,  which  kept  him  con- 
stantly on  the  alert  against  being  used  as  a  tool. 
Although  modest,  he  knew  so  well  the  grandeur  of 
the  part  he  was  playing  that  he  took  no  pains  to 
dissemble  the  childlike  delight  he  felt  at  demon- 
strations of  his  popularity.  The  lifelong  chamj^ion 
of  democracy,  he  behaved,  in  practice,  as  autocrat- 
ically as  Cromwell ;  a  believer  in  dictatorships, 
never  able  to  work  successfully  as  yoke-fellow  or 
subordinate  to  any  one  else.    Like  the  dreamers,  he 


GARIBALDI  157 

could  not  comprehend  that  human  society,  being 
a  growth  and  not  a  manufacture,  cannot  be  sud- 
denly lifted  by  benevolent  manifesto  or  patriotic 
resolution.  He  scorned  parliamentary  debates,  he 
reviled  diplomacy,  he  underrated  counsel. 

But  what  he  had,  he  had  superlatively :  valor, 
presence  of  mind,  geniality,  unselfishness,  mag- 
nanimity,—  he  had  all  these,  the  qualities  of  a 
popular  soldier,  to  a  degree  which  made  whoever 
fought  with  him  worship  him.  No  other  man  of 
his  time,  nor  perhaps  of  any  time,  inspired  so 
many  human  beings  with  personal  affection  —  as 
distinsfuished  from  that  devotion  which  other  fa- 
vorite  captains  have  inspired  —  as  he  did.  Every 
one  of  his  soldiers  felt  that  in  Garibaldi  he  had 
not  merely  a  commander  but  a  brother ;  every 
person  who  approached  him  acknowledged  his 
fascination. 

Strip  off  Garibaldi's  eccentricities,  look  into  his 
heart,  contemplate  his  achievements,  —  we  behold 
a  hero  of  the  Homeric  brood.  Again  we  enter  the 
presence  of  a  man  of  a  few  elemental  traits,  whose 
habit  it  was  to  exhibit  his  passions  without  that 
reserve  which  belongs  to  our  sophisticated  age. 
Like  Achilles,  he  wept  when  he  was  moved,  he 
sulked  when  he  was  angry.  Equally  simple  was 
the  mainspring  of  his  action.  lie  obeyed  two 
ideals,  and    those    two   of    the   noblest,  —  love  of 


158  THRONE-MAKERS 

liberty  and  love  of  his  fellow-men  :  nay,  more,  he 
obeyed  them  as  quickly  when  they  led  into  exile, 
poverty,  and  danger  as  when  they  led  him  to  a 
conquest  unparalleled  in  modern  history,  and  to 
fame  in  which  the  wonder  and  the  affection  of 
the  world  blended  in  equal  parts. 

In  the  making  of  Italy  it  was  his  mission  to 
rouse  some  of  his  countrymen  to  a  sense  of  their 
patriotic  duty,  and  to  lead  others  to  fight  for  a 
nation  under  Victor  Emanuel  instead  of  for  a  fac- 
tion under  Mazzini.  Through  him,  the  forces  of 
royalism  and  of  revolution  formed  an  alliance 
which,  although  it  was  almost  indispensable  to  the 
success  of  the  Italian  cause,  might  never,  but  for 
him,  have  been  formed. 

Such  was  Garibaldi,  his  character,  his  exploits. 
Shall  we  not  seek  also  for  the  meaning  of  his 
career  ?  Shall  we  not  ask,  "  To  what  attributes  of 
general  human  nature  had  his  individuality  the 
key?"  That  conquest  of  Sicily  was  but  an  epi- 
sode ;  long  anterior  to  it  was  built  up  the  tempera- 
ment which  might  have  liberated  twenty  Sicilies, 
and  which  found  a  multitude  ready  to  respond  to 
its  least  signal. 

More  than  half  of  our  nature  is  emotion.  Men 
may  lie  sluggish,  they  may  seem  sodden  in  selfish- 
ness, or  they  may  fritter  their  force  away  on  petty 
things.     But  let  the  hero  come,  —  the  Garibaldi, 


GARIBALDI  159 

the  embodied  emotion,  —  and  they  will  know  him 
as  light  knows  light,  or  lover  his  beloved.  What 
just  now  seemed  a  dead,  sordid  mass  is  tinder,  is 
flame.  The  craven  legions,  bewitched  and  trans- 
formed by  his  example,  will  follow  him  anywhere, 
were  it  to  storm  the  gates  of  hell !  The  immense 
scope  of  noble  emotion,  —  is  not  that  the  signif- 
icance, if  we  seek  it,  of  Garibaldi's  marvelous 
influence  ?  And  has  it  ever  been  more  certainly 
displayed  than  in  our  very  century,  miscalled  pro- 
saic ? 


PORTRAITS 


CARLYLE 

Dr.  Samuel  Johnson,  during  a  long  life,  cher- 
ished  an  aversion,  Platonic  rather  than  militant, 
for  Scotland  and  the  Scotch.  Had  any  one  told 
him  that  out  of  the  land  where  oats  were  fed  to 
men  there  should  issue,  soon  after  his  death,  a 
master  of  romance,  an  incomparable  singer,  and  a 
historian  without  rival,  we  can  well  imagine  the 
emphasis  with  which  he  would  have  said,  "  Tut ! 
tut !  sir,  that  is  impossible  !  "  Nevertheless,  for 
the  best  part  of  a  century  Scotland  has  shed  her 
influence  through  the  world  in  the  genius  of 
Walter  Scott,  Robert  Burns,  and  Thomas  Carlyle ; 
and  she  has  taken  sweet  vengeance  on  the  burly 
Doctor  himself  by  creating  in  James  Boswell  not 
only  the  best  of  British  biographers,  but  one  so 
far  the  best  that  no  other  can  be  named  worthy  to 
stand  second  to  him.  We  now  celebrate  the  cen- 
tenary of  the  last  of  these  great  Scotchmen,  — 
Thomas  Carlyle,  —  and  it  is  fitting  that  we  should 
survey  his  life  and  work.^ 

In    a   time    like    our  own,  when    literature    on 
*  First  printed  in  The  Forum,  New  York,  December,  1895. 


164  PORTRAITS 

either  side  of  the  Atlantic  lacks  original  energy ; 
when  the  best  minds  are  busy  with  criticism  rather 
than  with  creation ;  when  ephemeral  story-tellers 
and  spineless  disciples  of  culture  pass  for  mas- 
ters, and  sincere  but  uninspired  scholars  have  our 
respect  but  move  us  not,  —  we  shall  do  well  to 
contemplate  anew  the  man  who  by  his  personality 
and  his  books  has  nobly  swayed  two  generations  of 
the  English-speaking  race,  and  who,  as  the  years 
recede,  looms  more  and  more  certainly  as  the  fore- 
most modern  British  man  of  letters.  Men  may 
look  distorted  to  their  contemporaries,  like  the 
figures  in  a  Chinese  picture  ;  but  Time,  the  wisest 
of  painters,  sets  them  in  their  true  perspective, 
gives  them  their  just  proportions,  and  reveals  their 
permanent  features  in  light  and  shade.  And  suf- 
ficient time  has  now  elapsed  for  us  to  perceive 
that  Carlyle  belongs  to  that  thrice-winnowed  class 
of  literary  primates  whom  posterity  crowns.  He 
holds  in  the  nineteenth  century  a  position  similar 
to  Johnson's  in  the  eighteenth,  and  to  Milton's  in 
the  seventeenth,  —  each  masterful,  but  in  a  differ- 
ent way  ;  each  typifying  his  age  without  losing  his 
individuality  ;  all  brothers  in  preeminence. 

When,  for  convenience'  sake,  we  classify  Car- 
lyle among  men  of  letters,  we  fail  to  describe 
him  adequately.  The  phrase  suggests  too  little. 
Charles  Lamb,  the  lovable,  is  the  true  type  of 


CARLYLE  165 

men  of  letters,  who  illuminate,  sweeten,  clelight, 
and  entertain  us.  Carlyle  was  far  more  :  he  was 
a  mighty  moral  force,  using  many  forms  of  litera- 
ture —  criticism,  biography,  history,  pamphlets  — 
as  its  organs  of  expression.  He  had,  as  the  dis- 
cerning Goethe  said  of  him,  "  unborrowed  princi- 
ples of  conviction,"  by  which  he  tested  the  world. 
He  felt  the  compulsion  of  a  great  message  in- 
trusted to  him.  There  rings  through  most  of  his 
utterances  the  uncompromising  "Thus  saith  the 
Lord"  of  the  Hebrew  prophets, — a  tone  which, 
if  it  do  not  persuade  us,  we  call  arrogant,  yet 
which  speaks  the  voice  of  conscience  to  those  who 
give  it  heed.  What,  then,  was  his  message?  — 
what  those  "  unborrowed  principles  of  conviction  " 
by  which  he  judged  his  time  ? 

Born  in  the  poor  village  of  Ecclefechan  on  De- 
cember 4,  1795,  his  childhood  and  youth  were 
spent  amid  those  stern  conditions  by  which,  rather 
than  by  affluence,  brave,  self-reliant,  earnest  char- 
acters are  moulded.  His  parents  were  Calvinists, 
to  whom  religion  was  the  chief  concern,  and  who 
taught  him  by  example  the  severe  virtues  of  that 
grim  sect.  Next  to  religion,  and  its  active  mani- 
festation in  a  pious  life,  they  prized  education, 
begrudging  themselves  no  sacrifices  by  which  their 
son  might  attend  the  University  of  Edinburgh. 
They  wished  him  to  be  a  minister,  but  when  he 


166  PORTRAITS 

came  to  maturity  he  recognized  his  unfitness  for 
that  vocation  and  abandoned  it.  They  acquiesced 
regretfully,  little  dreaming  that  he  who  refused 
to  be  confined  in  some  Annandale  pulpit  should 
become  the  foremost  preacher  of  his  age. 

Carlyle's  reluctance  was  rooted  in  conscientious 
scruples.  He  began  by  questioning  the  authority 
of  his  Church  ;  he  went  on  to  sift  the  authority  of 
the  Bible.  Little  by  little  the  whole  wondrous 
fabric  of  supernatural  Christianity  crumbled  be- 
fore him.  He  could  not  but  be  honest  with  him- 
self ;  he  could  not  but  see  how  Hebrew  legend 
had  overgrown  the  stern  ethical  code  attributed 
to  Moses  ;  how  the  glosses  of  Paul  and  Augustine 
and  a  hundred  later  religionists  had  changed  or 
perverted  the  simple  teaching  of  Christ.  Awe- 
struck, he  beheld  the  God  of  his  youth  vanish  out 
of  the  world.  He  wandered  in  the  wilderness  of 
doubt ;  he  wrestled  daily  and  nightly  with  despair. 
And  then  slowly,  painfully,  after  brooding  through 
long  years,  he  saw  the  outlines  of  a  larger  faith 
emerge  from  the  gloom.  He  fortified  himself  by 
acknowledging  that,  since  righteousness  is  eternal, 
it  cannot  perish  when  we  reject  whatever  opinions 
some  Council  of  Westminster,  of  Trent,  or  of 
Nice  may  have  resolved  about  it. 

Only  earnest  souls  who  have  experienced  the 
wrench  which  comes  when  we  first  break  away 


CARLYLE  167 

from  the  bondage  of  an  artificial  religion,  and 
perceive  that  the  moral  law  may  be  something 
very  different  from  dogmas,  know  the  pang  it 
costs.  The  dread  of  losing  the  truth  when  errors 
are  thrown  over  —  nay,  the  apparent  hopelessness 
of  being  able  to  decide  what  is  truth  —  causes 
many  to  hesitate,  and  some  to  turn  back.  Carlyle 
was  not,  of  course,  the  first  in  Britain  to  tread  the 
desolate  path  from  Superstition  into  Rationalism. 
In  the  eighteenth  century  —  to  go  no  farther  back 
—  two  very  eminent  minds  had  preceded  him ;  but 
in  both  Hume  and  Gibbon  the  intellectual  pre- 
dominated over  the  moral  nature,  and  to  tempera- 
ments like  theirs  the  pangs  of  new  birth  are  always 
less  acute.  It  is  because  in  Carlyle  the  moral 
nature  preponderated  —  intense,  fiery,  and  endur- 
ing —  that  he  became  the  spokesman  of  myriads 
who  since  him  have  had  a  similar  experience. 

If  we  were  to  hazard  a  generalization  which 
should  sum  up  the  nineteenth  century,  might  we 
not  affirm  that  the  chief  business  of  the  century 
has  been  to  establish  a  basis  of  conduct  in  har- 
mony with  what  we  actually  know  of  the  laws 
governing  the  universe?  Hitherto,  for  ages  to- 
gether, men  have  not  consciously  done  this,  but 
they  have  accepted  standards  handed  down  to  them 
by  earlier  men,  who  compounded  tlx'se  standards 
out  of  little  knowledge,  much  ignorance,  legend, 


168  PORTRAITS 

and  hearsay.  Skeptics  there  have  always  been, 
but  usually,  like  the  skeptics  who  flourished  in  the 
last  century,  they  have  differed  from  the  doubters 
in  ours  by  the  degree  of  their  moral  intensity. 
Whether  we  turn  to  Carlyle  or  to  George  Eliot, 
we  find  each  tirelessly  busy  in  substituting  for  the 
worn-out  tenets  of  the  past,  springs  of  belief  and 
conduct  worthy  to  satisfy  a  more  enlightened  con- 
science. 

Here,  then,  we  have  the  corner-stone  of  Car- 
lyle's  influence.  Our  world  is  a  moral  world ; 
conscience  and  righteousness  are  eternal  realities, 
independent  of  the  vicissitudes  of  any  church.  If 
we  seek  for  a  definite  statement  of  Carlyle's  creed, 
we  shall  be  disajjpointed ;  he  never  formulated 
any.  After  breaking  loose  from  one  prison,  he 
would  have  scoffed  at  the  idea  of  voluntarily  lock- 
ing himself  up  in  another.  He  held  that  to  pos- 
sess a  moral  sense  is  to  possess  its  justification ; 
that  conscience  is  a  fact  transcending  logic  just  as 
consciousness  or  life  itself  does.  In  the  presence 
of  this  supreme  fact  he  cared  little  for  its  gene- 
alogy. The  immanence  of  God  was  to  him  an 
ever-present,  awful  verity. 

Likewise,  when  we  come  to  examine  his  philoso- 
phy, we  discover  that  he  constructed  no  formal 
system.  He  absorbed  the  doctrine  of  Kant  and 
his  followers,  and  may  be  classed,  by  those  who 


CARLYLE  169 

insist  that  every  man  shall  have  a  label,  among 
the  transcendentalists  :  but  his  main  interest  was 
the  application  of  moral  laws  to  life,  the  trial  of 
men  and  institutions  in  the  court  of  conscience, 
rather  than  the  exercise  of  the  intellect  in  meta- 
physical speculations.  The  mystery  of  evil  may 
not  be  explained  for  some  ages,  if  ever ;  while  we 
argue  about  it,  evil  grows :  the  one  indispensable 
duty  for  all  of  us,  he  would  say,  is  to  combat  evil 
in  ourselves  and  in  society  now  and  here.  The 
stanch  seaman,  when  his  shiji  founders,  does  not 
waste  time  in  meditating  why  it  should  be  that 
water  will  sink  a  ship,  but  he  lashes  together  a 
raft,  if  haply  he  may  thereby  come  off  safe. 

In  these  respects  we  behold  Carlyle  a  true  repre- 
sentative of  his  time.  Before  the  vast  bulk  of  sin 
and  sorrow  and  pain  he  did  not  cower ;  he  would 
fight  it  manfully.  But  the  smoke  of  battle  dark- 
ened him.  The  spectacle  of  mankind,  dwelling  in 
Eternity,  yet  ignorant  of  their  heritage,  pursuing 
"  desires  whose  purpose  ends  in  Time  ;  "  of  souls 
engaged  from  dawn  to  dusk  of  their  swift-fleeting 
existence,  not  on  soul's  business,  but  on  body's 
business,  worshiping  idols  they  know  to  be  false, 
deceiving,  persecuting,  slaying  each  other,  —  con- 
firmed a  tendency  to  pessimism  to  which  his  early 
Calvinism  had  predisposed  him.  But  Carlyle's 
pessimism    must    not  be  confounded  with  Swift's 


170  PORTRAITS 

misanthropy,  or  with  Leopardi's  blank  despair,  or 
with  the  despicable  Schopenhauer's  cosmic  nega- 
tion of  good.  Carlyle  was  neither  cynic  nor  mis- 
anthrope. He  might  exclaim  with  Ecclesiastes, 
"  Vanity  of  vanities,  all  is  vanity !  "  but  he  would 
mean  that  the  ways  and  works  of  man  are  vain 
in  comparison  with  his  possibilities,  and  with  the 
incalculable  worth  of  righteousness.  "  Man's  un- 
happiness,  as  I  construe,"  he  says,  "  comes  of  his 
greatness ;  it  is  because  there  is  an  Infinite  in 
him  which,  with  all  his  cunning,  he  cannot  quite 
bury  under  the  Finite.  Always  there  is  a  black 
spot  in  our  sunshine  :  it  is  even  the  Shadow  of 
Ourselves." 

These  being  the  elements  of  Carlyle's  moral 
nature,  let  us  look  for  a  moment  at  the  world 
which  he  was  to  test  by  his  "  unborrowed  princi- 
ples of  conviction."  He  came  on  the  scene  dur- 
ing the  decade  of  reaction  which  followed  the 
battle  of  Waterloo.  Official  Europe,  confounding 
the  ambition  of  Napoleon  with  the  causes  under- 
lying the  Revolution,  supposed  that  in  crushing 
one  it  had  destroyed  the  other.  The  motto  of  the 
Old  Regime  had  been  Privilege,  of  the  New  it 
was  Merit.  The  revived  political  fashions  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  though  cut  by  such  elegant 
tailors  as  Metternich,  Castlereagh,  and  Polignac, 
chafed  a  generation  which  had  grown  used  to  a 


CARLYLE  171 

freer  costume.  At  any  time  there  yawns  between 
the  ideals  and  the  practices  of  society  a  discrepancy 
which  provokes  the  censure  of  the  philosopher  and 
the  sarcasm  of  the  cynic ;  but  in  a  time  like  the 
Restoration,  when  some  men  consciously  repudiated 
and  none  sincerely  believed  the  system  thrust  upon 
them,  the  chasm  between  profession  and  perform- 
ance must  open  wider  still,  revealing  not  only  the 
noble  failures  born  of  earnest  but  baffled  endeavor, 
but  also  all  the  hideous  growths  of  hypocrisy,  of 
deceptions,  insincerities,  and  intellectual  fraud. 
And  in  very  truth  the  Old  Regime  resuscitated 
by  Europe's  oligarchs  was  doubly  condemned, 
—  first,  as  being  unfitted  to  the  new  age ;  and, 
secondly,  as  having  marked  in  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury, when  it  flourished,  the  logical  conclusion  of  a 
political  and  social  epoch.  In  1820  the  trunk  and 
main  branches  of  the  tree  of  Feudalism  were  dead : 
he  was  not  a  wise  man  who  imagined  that  the  still 
surviving  upper  branches  would  long  keep  green. 

Not  alone  in  the  political  constitution  of  society 
were  momentous  changes  operating.  They  but 
represented  the  attempt  of  man  to  work  out,  in 
his  civic  and  social  relations,  ideas  which  had 
already  penetrated  his  religion  and  his  philosophy. 
Distil  those  ideas  to  their  inmost  essence,  its  name 
is  Liberty.  The  old  Church,  wliether  Roman  or 
Protestant,  lay  rotting  at  anchor  in  the  land-locked 


172  PORTRAITS 

bayou  of  Authority ;  and  the  pioneers  of  the  new 
convictions,  abandoning  her  and  her  cargo  of  anti- 
quated dogmas,  had  pushed  on  across  intervening 
morasses  to  the  shore  of  the  illimitable  sea ;  yea, 
they  were  launching  thereon  their  skiffs  of  modern 
pattern,  and  resolutely,  hopefully  steering  whither 
their  consciences  pointed.  Better  the  storms  of 
the  living  ocean  than  the  miasma  of  that  stagnant, 
scum-breeding  pool !  But  a  church  is  of  all  insti- 
tutions that  to  which  men  cling  most  stubbornly, 
paying  it  lip-service  long  after  its  doctrines  have 
ceased  to  shape  their  conduct  or  to  lift  their  aspi- 
rations ;  trying  to  believe,  in  spite  of  their  unbe- 
lief, that  it  will  continue  to  be  to  them  a  source  of 
strength  as  it  once  was  to  their  fathers ;  preserv- 
ing forms,  but  veneering  them  with  contradictory 
meanings ;  coming  at  last  to  declare  that  an  in- 
stitution must  be  kept,  if  for  no  other  reason  than 
because  it  once  fulfilled  the  purposes  for  which  it 
is  now  inadequate.  The  aroma  of  association  has 
for  some  minds  the  potency  of  original  inspiration. 
Who  can  ponder  on  life  without  perceiving  that 
whereas  in  their  business,  their  possessions,  their 
love,  and  their  hate,  men  resent  dictation  ;  in  mat- 
ters beyond  the  scojae  of  experience,  and  conse- 
quently beyond  proof,  —  as  the  conditions  of  a 
future  life,  —  men  credulously  accept  the  guidance 
of  others  quite  as  ignorant  as    themselves,  from 


CARLYLE  173 

whom    in    their   business   or  their   passions    they 
would  submit  to  no  interference  ? 

Needless  to  say  the  revived  Old  Regime  in- 
trenched itself  behind  whatever  church  it  found 
standing-,  —  in  Prussia  the  Lutheran,  in  England 
the  Anglican,  in  Scotland  the  Calvinist,  in  the 
Latin  countries  the  Roman.  The  ecclesiastical  in- 
stitution might  not  humanize  the  masses,  but  at 
least  it  held  them  in  check ;  it  might  not  spiritual- 
ize the  classes,  but  it  taught  them  that  in  rallying 
to  its  support  they  were  best  guarding  their  own 
privileges.  Metternich,  whom  we  call  the  repre- 
sentative of  the  Restoration,  did  not  scruple  to 
announce  that,  as  the  dangers  which  threatened 
Church  and  State  were  identical,  the  Church  could 
be  saved  only  by  upholding  the  State.  Not  for 
the  first  time  in  history  was  the  priest  a  policeman 
in  disguise. 

Into  this  world  of  transition  Thomas  Carlyle 
strode  with  his  store  of  unborrowed  principles. 
Right  or  wrong,  his  convictions  were  his  own  ; 
therefore  they  were  realities  that  need  not  fear  a 
conflict  with  ghosts  of  dead  convictions  and  insin- 
cerities. 

Naturally,  one  of  the  first  facts  that  amazed 
him  was  the  monstrous  unreality  in  that  transi- 
tional society.  By  the  census  the  people  of  Great 
Britain  were    rated  as  Christians ;   by  their  acts 


174  PORTRAITS 

they  seemed  little  better  than  barbarians.  What 
availed  the  Established  Church,  in  which  livings 
were  assigned  at  the  pleasure  of  some  dissolute 
noble,  fox-hunting  parsons  were  given  the  cure 
of  souls,  and  worldlings  or  unbelievers  rose  to  be 
bishops  ?  Could  the  loudest  protestations  explain 
the  existence  of  great,  gaunt,  brutalized  masses, 
beyond  the  pale  of  human  charity  ;  every  horse 
sleek,  well  lodged,  and  well  fed,  but  innumerable 
men  dying  of  hunger  or  lodged  in  the  almshouse  ? 
Can  that  be  true  civilization  in  which  the  various 
constituents  recognize  no  interdependence,  and 
only  a  few  usurp  benefits  which  are  pernicious 
unless  they  be  free  to  all?  Respectability,  and 
not  virtue,  —  that,  Carlyle  declared,  was  John 
Bull's  ideal,  and  he  opened  fire  upon  its  chief 
allies.  Sham  and  Cant.  He  spared  no  prejudices, 
he  respected  no  institutions.  With  sarcasm  until 
then  unknown  in  English,  he  unmasked  one  arti- 
ficiality after  another,  disclosing  the  cruelty  or  the 
hypocrisy  which  lurked  behind  it,  and  setting  over 
against  it  the  true  nature  of  the  thing  it  pretended 
to  be.  To  interpret  such  conditions  by  the  crite- 
rion of  conscience  was  to  condemn  them. 

But  Carlyle's  mission  was  not  merely  to  destroy : 
he  shattered  error  in  order  that  the  clogged  foun- 
tain of  truth  might  once  more  gush  forth.  Before 
eyes  long  dimmed  with  gazing  on  insincerity,  he 


CARLYLE  175 

would  hold  up  shining  patterns  of  sincerity ;  souls 
groping  for  guidance,  he  would  stay  and  comfort 
by  precedents  of  strength ;  hearts  pursuing  false 
idols,  he  would  chasten  by  examples  of  truth. 
Men  talked  —  and  nowhere  more  pragmatically 
than  in  the  churches  —  as  if  God,  after  having  im- 
parted his  behests  to  a  few  Hebrews  ages  ago,  had 
retired  into  some  remote  empyrean,  and  busied 
himself  no  more  with  the  affairs  of  men.  But  to 
Carlyle  the  immanence  of  God  was  an  ever-present 
reality,  manifesting  itself  throughout  all  history 
and  in  every  individual  conscience,  but  nowise 
more  clearly  than  in  the  careers  of  great  men. 

Thus  he  made  it  his  business  to  set  before  his 
contemporaries  models  worthy  of  veneration,  for 
he  recognized  that  worship  is  a  primary  moral 
need.  "  Great  men,"  he  says,  "  are  the  inspired 
(speaking  and  acting)  Texts  of  that  divine  Booh 
of  Revelatio7is,  whereof  a  Chapter  is  completed 
from  epoch  to  epoch,  and  by  some  named  His- 
tory.''' In  this  spirit  he  introduced  Goethe,  the 
latest  of  the  heroes,  to  English  readers,  as  the 
man  who,  from  amid  chaos  similar  to  that  which 
bewildered  them,  had  climbed  to  a  position  where 
life  could  be  lived  nobly,  rationally,  well.  "  Close 
your  Byron,  open  your  Goethe,"  was  his  advice  to 
those  in  whom  Byron's  mingled  defiance  and  senti- 
mentality found  an  echo.     He    showed  in  Crom- 


17(1  PORTRAITS 

well  how  religious  zeal  is  something  very  different 
from  a  phantom  faith.  He  laid  bare  the  truth  in 
Mahomet.  He  made  Lutlier  live  again.  And  all 
to  the  end  that  he  might  convince  his  dazed  con- 
temporaries that  in  no  age,  if  we  look  deeply,  shall 
we  look  in  vain  for  concrete,  living  examples  of 
those  qualities  which  are  indispensable  to  right 
action  ;  that  salvation  —  the  purging  of  the  char- 
acter—  is  won  by  exercising  virtues,  and  not  by 
conforming  to  a  stereotyped  routine ;  that  the  au- 
thority of  conscience  is  a  present  fact,  not  a  mere 
mechanism  which  God  woimd  up  and  gave  to  the 
Hebrews,  and  has  been  transmitted  in  poor  repair 
by  them  to  us.  As  an  antidote  to  sterilizing 
doubt,  Carlyle  prescribed  the  simple  remedy  which 
sums  up  the  wisdom  of  all  the  sages :  "  Do  the 
Duty  which  lies  nearest  thee,  which  thou  knowest 
to  be  a  Duty  !  Thy  second  Duty  will  already  have 
become  clearer."  In  this  fashion  did  Carlyle  dis- 
charge his  mission  as  a  moral  regenerator.  We 
live  as  individuals,  and  to  the  individual  conscience 
he  made  his  appeal,  caring  little  for  the  organiza- 
tion of  principles  into  institutions.  Rather,  like 
every  individualist,  did  he  incline  to  deprecate  the 
numbing  effect  of  institutions.  Let  each  unit  be 
righteous,  in  order  that  whatever  the  collective 
units  shall  establish  may  be  righteous  too. 

Bearing  this  in  mind,  we  shall  understand  Car- 


CARLYLE  177 

lyle's  attitude  toward  the  great  social  and  intel- 
lectual movements  of  his  time.  The  watchword 
which  had  inspired  generous  minds  at  the  end  of 
the  last  century  was  Liberty,  and  after  the  thun- 
ders of  the  Napoleonic  wars  that  had  drowned  it 
died  away,  it  rang  out  its  summons  more  clearly 
tlian  before,  never  again  to  be  quite  deadened, 
despite  all  the  efforts  of  the  Old  Regime.  The 
application  of  the  theory  of  Liberty  to  govern- 
ment resulted  in  setting  up  Democracy  as  the  ideal 
political  system.  Since  every  citizen  in  the  State 
bears,  directly  or  indirectly,  his  fraction  of  the 
burden  of  taxation,  and  since  he  is  affected  by  the 
laws,  and  interested,  even  to  the  point  of  laying 
down  his  life,  in  the  preservation  of  his  country. 
Democracy  declares  that  he  should  have  an  equal 
part  with  every  other  citizen  in  determining  what 
the  taxes  and  policy  of  his  State  shall  be ;  and  it 
thrusts  upon  him  the  responsibility  of  choosing  his 
own  governors  and  representatives.  To  Carlyle 
this  ideal  seemed  a  chimera.  Plonest,  just,  and 
intelligent  government  is  of  all  social  contrivances 
the  most  difficult:  by  what  miracle,  therefore, 
shall  the  sum  of  the  opinions  of  a  million  voters, 
severally  ignorant,  be  intelligent?  As  well  blow 
a  million  soap-bubbles,  each  thinner  than  gossa- 
mer, and  expect  that  collectively  they  will  be  hard 
as  steel !     Or,  admitting  that  the  representatives 


178  PORTRAITS 

Demos  chooses  be  not  so  incompetent  as  itself, 
how  shall  they  be  kept  disinterested  ?  Their  very- 
numbers  not  only  make  them  unmanageable,  but 
so  divide  responsibility  that  any  individual  among 
them  can  shift  from  his  own  shoulders  the  blame 
for  corrupt  or  harmful  laws.  Moreover,  popular 
government  means  party  government,  and  that 
means  compromise.  To  Carlyle,  principles  were 
either  right  or  wrong,  and  between  right  and 
wrong  he  saw  no  neutral  ground  for  compromise. 
Party  government  cleaves  to  expediency,  which  at 
best  is  only  a  half-truth;  but  half-truth  is  also 
half-error,  and  any  infinitesimal  taint  of  error 
vitiates  the  truth  to  which  it  clings.  Finally, 
Democracy  substitutes  a  new,  many-headed  tyr- 
anny —  more  difficult  to  destroy  because  many- 
headed  —  for  the  tyranny  it  would  abolish. 

Such  objections  Carlyle  urged  with  consummate 
vigor.  He  foresaw,  too,  many  of  the  other  evils 
which  have  accompanied  the  development  of  this 
system  to  impair  its  efficacy,  such  as  the  rise  of 
a  class  of  professional  politicians,  of  political 
sophists,  of  corrupt  "bosses,"  expert  in  the  art 
of  wheedling  the  ignorant  many,  and  thereby  of 
frustrating  the  initial  purpose  of  the  system.  His 
opposition  did  not  spring  from  desire  to  see  the 
masses  down-trodden,  but  from  conviction  that 
they  need  guidance  and  enlightenment,  and  that 


CARLYLE  179 

they  are  therefore  no  more  competent  to  choose 
their  own  law-makers  than  children  are  to  choose 
their  own  teachers.  In  knowledge  of  public  affairs 
Demos  is  still  a  child,  innocent,  well-intentioned,  if 
you  will ;  but  ignorant,  and  by  this  system  left  to 
the  mercy  of  the  unscrupulous. 

This  brings  us  to  consider  the  charge  that  Car- 
lyle,  in  his  exaltation  of  the  Strong  Man,  wor- 
shiped crude  force.  Let  us  grant  that  on  the 
surface  the  accusation  seems  plausible  ;  but  when 
we  seek  deeper,  we  shall  discover  that  he  exalts 
Cromwell  and  Frederick,  not  because  they  were 
despots,  but  because,  in  his  judgment,  they  knew 
better  than  any  other  man,  or  group  of  men,  in 
their  respective  countries,  how  to  govern.  Their 
ability  was  their  justification ;  their  force,  but 
the  symbol  of  their  ability.  "  Weakness  "  —  Car- 
lyle  was  fond  of  quoting  —  "  is  the  only  misery." 
What  is  ignorance  but  weakness  (through  lack  of 
training)  of  the  intellect  ?  In  the  incessant  battle 
of  life,  —  and  few  men  have  been  more  constantly 
impressed  than  Carlyle  by  the  battle-aspect  of 
life,  —  weakness  of  whatever  kind  succumbs  to 
strength.  Evil  perpetually  marshals  its  forces 
against  Good,  —  positive,  aggressive  forces,  to  be 
overcome  neither  by  inertia,  nor  indifference,  nor 
half-hearted  compromise,  but  by  hurling  stronger 
forces  of  Good  against  them.     Interpreting  Car- 


180  PORTRAITS 

lyle's  views  thus,  we  perceive  why  he  extolled  the 
Strong  Man  and  distrusted  the  aggregate  igno- 
rance of  Democracy.  Furthermore,  we  must  not 
forget  that  he  never  considered  politics  the  prime 
business  of  life  :  first,  make  the  masses  righteous, 
next,  enlightened,  and  then  they  will  naturally 
organize  a  righteous  and  enlightened  government. 
When  Carlyle  rejoined  to  the  zealots  of  Demo- 
cracy or  other  panaceas,  "  Adopt  your  new  system 
if  you  must,  will  not  the  same  old  human  units 
operate  it?  Were  it  not  wiser  to  perfect  them 
first?" — he  antagonized  the  spirit  of  the  age: 
wisely  or  not,  only  time  can  show.  Those  of  us 
who  would  reject  his  arguments  would  neverthe- 
less admit  that  Democracy  is  still  on  trial. 

With  equal  fearlessness  he  attacked  the  cheap 
optimism  based  on  material  prosperity,  which  brags 
of  the  enormous  commercial  expansion  made  pos- 
sible by  the  invention  of  machinery ;  which  boasts 
of  the  rapid  increase  in  population  —  so  many 
more  million  mouths  to  feed  and  bodies  to  clothe, 
and  so  much  more  food  and  raiment  produced  — 
from  decade  to  decade.  These  facts,  he  insisted, 
are  not  of  themselves  evidences  of  progress.  Your 
inventions  procure  greater  comfort,  a  more  exu- 
berant luxury;  but  do  comfort  and  luxury  neces- 
sarily build  up  character  ?  —  do  they  not  rather 
unbuild  it?    Are  your  newly  bred  millions  of  bodies 


CARLYLE  181 

more  than  bodies?  Take  a  census  of  souls,  has 
their  number  increased?  Though  your  steam- 
horse  carries  you  fifty  miles  an  hour,  have  you 
thereby  become  more.virtuous  ?  Though  the  light- 
ning bears  your  messages,  have  you  gained  bra- 
very ?  Of  old,  your  aristocracy  were  soldiers  :  is 
the  brewer  who  rises  from  his  vats  to  the  House 
of  Lords  —  is  any  other  man  owing  his  promotion 
to  the  tradesman's  skill  in  heaping  wealth  —  more 
worshipful  than  they  ?  Let  us  not  say  that  this 
amazing  industrial  expansion  may  not  conduce  to 
the  uplifting  of  character  ;  but  let  us  strenuously 
affirm  that  it  is  of  itself  no  indication  of  moral 
progress,  and  that,  if  it  fail  to  be  accompanied  by 
a  corresponding  spiritual  growth,  it  will  surely 
lead  society  by  the  Byzantine  high-road  to  effemi- 
nacy, exhaustion,  and  death. 

A  different  gospel,  this,  from  that  which  Car- 
lyle's  great  rival,  Macaulay,  was  preaching,  — 
Macaulay,  who  lauded  the  inventor  of  a  useful 
machine  above  all  philosophers !  Different  from 
the  optimism  —  which  gauges  by  bulk  —  of  the 
newspapers  and  the  political  haranguers !  Differ- 
ent, because  true  !  Yet,  though  it  sounded  harsh, 
it  stirred  consciences,  —  which  smug  flatterings 
and  gratulations  can  never  do  ;  and  it  gave  a 
tremendous  impetus  to  that  movement  which  has 
come  to  overshadow  all  others,  —  the  movement  to 


182  PORTRAITS 

reconstruct  society  on  a  basis,  not  of  privilege, 
not  of  bare  legality,  but  of  mutual  obligations. 

Any  inventory,  however  brief,  of  Carlyle's  sub- 
stance, would  be  incomplete  without  some  refer- 
ence to  his  quarrel  with  Science.  To  Science  a 
large  part  of  the  best  intelligence  of  our  age  has 
been  devoted,  —  a  sign  of  the  breaking  away  of 
the  best  minds  from  the  cretinizing  quibbles  of 
theology  into  fields  where  knowledge  can  be  ascer- 
tained. It  is  a  truism  that  Science  has  advanced 
farther  in  our  century  than  in  all  preceding  time. 
By  what  paradox,  then,  should  Carlyle  slight  its 
splendid  achievements  ?  Was  it  not  because  he 
revolted  from  the  materialistic  tendency  which  he 
believed  to  be  inseparable  from  Science,  a  ten- 
dency which  predominated  a  generation  ago  more 
than  it  does  to-day  ?  Materialism  Carlyle  re- 
garded as  a  Gorgon's  head,  the  sight  of  which 
would  inevitably  petrify  man's  moral  nature. 

Moreover,  Carlyle's  method  differed  radically 
from  that  of  the  scientific  man,  who  describes 
processes  and  investigates  relations,  but  does  not 
explain  causes.  Pledged  to  his  allegiance  to  tan- 
gible facts,  the  man  of  science  looks  at  things  seri- 
ally, pays  heed  to  an  individual  as  a  link  in  an 
endless  chain  rather  than  as  an  individual,  lays 
emphasis  on  averages  rather  than  on  particulars. 
To  him  this  method  is  alone  honest,  and,  thanks 


CARLYLE  183 

to  it,  a  single  science  to-day  commands  more  au- 
thenticated facts  than  all  the  sciences  had  fifty 
years  ago.  But  there  are  facts  of  supreme  im- 
portance which,  up  to  the  present  at  least,  this 
method  does  not  solve.  The  mystery  of  the  origin 
of  life  still  confronts  us.  Consciousness,  the 
Sphinx,  still  mutely  challenges  the  caravans  which 
file  before  her.  The  revelations  of  Science  seem, 
under  one  aspect,  but  descriptions  of  the  habita- 
tions of  life  from  the  protoplasmic  cell  up  to  the 
human  body.  Immense  though  the  value  of  such 
a  register  be,  we  are  not  deceived  into  imagining 
that  it  explains  ultimates.  How  came  life  into 
protoplasm  at  all  ?  Whence  each  infinitesimal  in- 
crement of  life,  recognizable  at  last  in  the  budding 
of  some  new  organ  ?  And  when  we  arrive  at  man, 
whence  came  his  personality  ?  Each  of  us  is  not 
only  one  in  a  genealogical  series  stretching  back 
to  the  unreasoning,  conscienceless  amoeha,  but  a 
clearly  defined  individual,  a  little  world  in  himself, 
to  whom  his  love,  his  sorrow,  his  pain  and  joy  and 
terror,  transcend  in  vividness  all  the  experiences  of 
all  previous  men :  a  microcosm,  having  its  own  im- 
mediate relations  —  absolute  relations  —  witli  the 
infinite  macrocosm.  Science,  bent  on  establishing 
present  laws, ,  measures  by  aeons,  counts  by  mil- 
lions, and  has  warrant  for  ignoring  your  brief  span 
or  mine ;  but  to  you  and  me  these  few  decades  are 


184  PORTRAITS 

all  in  all.  However  it  may  fare  with  the  millions, 
you  and  I  have  vital,  pressing  needs,  to  supply 
which  the  experience  of  the  entire  animal  kingdom 
can  give  us  no  help.  Upon  these  most  human 
needs  Carlyle  fastened,  to  the  exclusion  of  what 
he  held  to  be  unnecessary  to  the  furtherance  of 
our  spiritual  welfare.  He  busied  himself  with 
ultimates  and  the  Absolute.  Not  the  stages  of 
development,  but  the  development  attained  ;  not 
the  pedigree  of  conscience,  but  conscience  as  the 
supreme  present  reality  ;  not  the  species,  but  the 
individual,  —  were  his  absorbing  interests. 

Thus  we  see  how  Carlyle  approached  the  great 
questions  of  life  invariably  as  a  moralist.  Mere 
erudition,  which  too  often  tends  away  from  the 
human,  did  not  attract  him.  Science,  which  he 
beheld  still  unspiritualized,  he  undervalued  :  what 
boots  it  to  know  the  "  mileage  and  tonnage "  of 
the  universe,  when  our  foremost  need  is  to  build 
up  character?  In  politics,  in  philosophy,  in  reli- 
gion, likewise,  he  set  this  consideration  above  all 
others  :  before  its  august  presence  outward  reforms 
dwindled  into  insignificance. 

Such  was  the  substance  of  Carlyle's  message. 
Remarkable  as  is  its  range,  profound  as  is  its  im- 
port, it  required  for  its  consummation  the  uniqne 
powers  of  utterance  which  Carlyle  possessed. 
Among  the  masters  of   British  prose  he  holds  a 


CARLYLE  185 

position  similar  to  that  of  Michael  Angelo  among 
the  masters  of  painting.  Power,  elemental,  titanic, 
rushing  forth  from  an  inexhaustible  moral  nature, 
yet  guided  by  art,  is  the  quality  in  both  which 
first  startles  our  wonder.  The  great  passages  in 
Carlyle's  works,  like  the  Prophets  and  Sibyls  of 
the  Sixtine  Chapel,  have  no  peers  :  they  form  a 
new  species,  of  which  they  are  the  only  examples. 
They  seem  to  defy  the  ordinary  canons  of  criti- 
cism ;  but  if  they  break  the  rules  it  is  because 
whoever  made  the  rules  did  not  foresee  the  possi- 
bility of  such  works.  Transcendent  Power,  let  it 
take  whatever  shape  it  will,  —  volcano,  torrent, 
Caesar,  Buonarotti,  Carlyle,  —  proclaims  :  "  Here 
I  am,  —  a  fact :  make  of  me  what  you  can  !  You 
shall  not  ignore  me  !  " 

Of  Carlyle's  style  we  may  say  that,  whether  one 
likes  it  or  not,  one  can  as  little  ignore  it  as  fail  to 
perceive  that  he  makes  it  serve,  with  equal  success, 
whatever  purpose  he  requires.  It  can  explain,  it 
can  laugh,  it  can  draw  tears  ;  it  can  inveigh,  argue, 
exhort ;  it  can  tell  a  story  or  preach  a  sermon. 
Carlyle  has,  it  is  computed,  the  largest  vocabulary 
in  English  prose.  Ilis  endowment  of  imagination 
and  of  humor  beggars  all  his  competitors.  None 
of  them  has  invented  so  many  new  images,  or 
given  to  old  images  such  fresh  pertinence.  Your 
first  impression,  on  turning  to  other  writings  after 


186  PORTRAITS 

his,  is  that  they  are  pale,  and  dim,  and  cold :  such 
is  the  fascination  inalienable  from  power.  Excess 
there  may  be  in  so  vehement  a  genius ;  repetition 
there  must  be  in  utterances  poured  out  during 
sixty  years ;  an  individuality  so  intense  must  have 
an  equally  individual  manner ;  but  there  is,  rightly 
speaking,  no  mannerism,  for  mannerism  implies 
affectation,  and  Carlyle's  primal  instinct  was  sin- 
cerity. His  expression  is  an  organic  part  of  him- 
self, and  shares  his  merits  and  defects. 

Carlyle  won  his  first  reputation  as  a  historian ; 
singularly  enough,  his  achievements  in  history 
have  temporarily  suffered  a  partial  eclipse.  Teach- 
ers in  our  colleges  refer  to  them  dubiously  or  not 
at  all.  Does  the  fault  lie  with  these  same  teach- 
ers, or  with  Carlyle  ?  A  glance  at  the  methods  of 
the  school  of  historical  students  which  has  sprung 
up  during  the  last  generation  will  explain  the  dis- 
agreement. 

History,  like  every  other  branch  of  intellectual 
activity,  has  responded  to  the  doctrines  of  Evolu- 
tion. That  most  fertile  working  hypothesis  has 
proved,  when  applied  here,  not  less  fruitful  than 
in  other  fields.  It  has  caused  the  annals  of  the 
past  to  be  reinvestigated,  every  document,  record, 
and  monument  to  be  gathered  up,  and  the  results 
have  been  set  forth  from  the  new  point  of  view. 
Evolutionary  science,  as  we  saw  above,  fixes  its 


CARLYLE  187 

attention  primarily  on  the  processes  of  develop- 
ment, and  regards  the  individual,  in  comparison 
with  a  species  or  the  race,  as  a  negligible  quantity. 
A  similar  spirit  has  guided  historical  students. 
They  have  turned  away  fi'om  "  great  captains  with 
their  guns  and  drums,"  away  from  figure-head 
monarchs,  away  from  the  achievements  of  even  the 
mightiest  individuals,  to  scrutinize  human  action 
in  its  collective  forms,  the  rise  and  supremacy  and 
fall  of  institutions,  the  growth  of  parties,  the  wax- 
ing and  waning  of  organisms  like  Church  or  State, 
in  whose  many-centuried  existence  individual  ca- 
reers are  swallowed  up.  Using  the  methods  of 
Science,  these  students  have  persuaded  themselves 
that  history  also  is  a  science,  which,  in  truth,  it 
can  never  be.  Judicial  temper,  patience,  veracity, 
—  the  qualities  which  they  rightly  magnify,  — 
were  not  invented  by  them,  nor  are  these  the  only 
qualities  required  in  writing  history.  Speaking 
broadly,  facts  lie  within  the  reach  of  any  diligent 
searcher.  But  a  fact  is  a  mere  pebble  in  a  brook 
until  some  David  comes  to  put  it  in  his  sling. 
True  history  is  the  arrangement  and  interpretation 
of  facts,  and  —  more  difficult  still  —  insight  into 
motives  :  for  this  there  must  be  art,  there  must  be 
imagination. 

To    the  disciples  of   the  "  scientific  school "    it 
may  be  said  that  the  heaping  up  of  great  stores  of 


188  PORTRAITS 

facts  —  the  collection  of  manuscripts,  the  catalogu- 
ing of  documents,  the  shoveling  all  together  in 
thick  volumes  prefaced  by  forty  pages  of  biblio- 
graphy, each  paragraph  floating  on  a  deep,  viscous 
stream  of  notes,  each  volume  bulging  with  a  score 
of  appendices  —  is  in  no  high  sense  history,  but 
the  accumulation  of  material  therefor.  It  bears 
the  same  relation  to  history  as  the  work  of  the 
quarryman  to  that  of  the  architect ;  most  worthy 
in  itself,  and  evidently  indispensable,  but  not  the 
same.  Stand  before  some  noble  edifice,  —  Lincoln 
Cathedral,  for  instance,  with  its  incomparable  site, 
its  symmetry  and  majestic  proportions :  scan  it 
until  you  feel  its  personality  and  realize  that  this 
is  a  living  idea,  the  embodiment  of  strength  and 
beauty  and  aspiration  and  awe,  —  and  you  will  not 
confound  the  agency  of  the  stone-cutters  who 
quarried  the  blocks  with  that  of  the  architect  in 
whose  imagination  the  design  first  rose.  Neither 
should  there  be  confusion  between  the  historical 
hodman  and  the  historian. 

Indubitably,  history  of  the  highest  kind  may 
be  written  from  the  evolutionist's  standpoint,  but 
as  yet  works  of  the  lower  variety  predominate. 
Therefore,  in  a  time  when  the  development  of  in- 
stitutions chiefly  commands  attention,  Carlyle, 
who  magnifies  individuals,  will  naturally  be  neg- 
lected.    But  in  reality,  histories  of  both  kinds  are 


CARLYLE  189 

needed  to  supplement  each  other.  All  institu- 
tions originate  and  exist  in  the  activities  of  indi- 
viduals. The  hero,  the  great  man,  makes  concrete 
and  human  what  would  otherwise  be  abstract. 
Environment  does  not  wholly  explain  him.  It  is 
easy  to  show  wherein  he  resembles  his  fellows; 
that  difference  from  them  which  constitutes  his 
pecidiar,  original  gift  is  the  real  mystery,  which 
the  study  of  resemblances  cannot  solve.  Men  will 
cease  to  be  men  when  personality  shall  lose  its 
power  over  them. 

Accepting,  therefore,  the  inherent  antagonism 
in  the  two  points  of  view,  —  antagonism  which 
implies  parity  and  not  the  necessary  extinction  of 
one  by  the  other, — we  can  judge  Carlyle  fairly. 
Among  historians  he  excels  in  vividness.  Perhaps 
more  than  any  other  who  has  attempted  to  chron- 
icle the  past,  he  has  visualized  the  past.  The 
men  he  describes  are  not  lay  figures,  with  wooden 
frames  and  sawdust  vitals,  to  be  called  Frenchmen 
or  Germans  or  Englishmen  according:  as  a  dif- 
ferent  costume  is  draped  upon  them  ;  but  human 
beings,  each  swayed  by  his  own  passions,  striving 
and  sinning,  and  incessantly  alive.  They  are  actors 
in  a  real  drama :  such  as  they  are,  Carlyle  has 
seen  them  ;  such  as  he  has  seen,  he  depicts  them. 
To  go  oack  to  Carlyle  from  one  of  the  "  scien- 
tific historians  "  is  like  passing  from  a  museum  of 


100  PORTRAITS 

mummies  out  into  the  throng  of  living  men.  If 
his  portraits  differ  from  those  of  another  artist,  it 
does  not  follow  that  they  are  false.  In  ordinary 
affairs,  two  witnesses  may  give  a  different  report 
of  the  same  event,  yet  each  may,  from  his  angle 
of  observation,  have  given  exact  testimony.  Ab- 
solute truth,  who  shall  utter  it?  Since  history  of 
the  highest,  architectonic  kind  is  interpretation, 
its  value  must  depend  on  the  character  of  the  in- 
terpreter. Not  to  be  greatly  esteemed,  we  suspect, 
are  those  grubbers  among  the  rubbish  heaps  who 
imagine  that  Carlyle's  interpretation  of  the  French 
Revolution,  or  of  Cromwell,  or  of  Frederick,  may 
be  ignored.  Character,  insight,  and  imagination 
went  to  the  production  of  works  like  these :  they 
require  kindred  gifts  to  be  appreciated. 

Neither  of  Carlyle's  portrait  gallery,  unparal- 
leled in  range,  in  which  from  each  picture  an 
authentic  human  face  looks  out  at  us  ;  nor  of  his 
masterpieces  of  narration,  long  since  laureled  even 
by  the  unwilling,  —  is  there  space  here  to  speak. 
In  portraiture  he  used  Rembrandt's  methods  :  seiz- 
ing on  structural  and  characteristic  traits,  he  dis- 
plays them  in  strong,  full  light,  and  heightens  the 
effect  by  surrounding  them  with  shadows.  As 
a  biographer  he  succeeded  equally  well  in  telling 
the  story  of  Schiller  and  that  of  John  Sterling : 
the  latter  a  most  difficult  task,  as  it  must  always  be 
to  make  intellisrible  to  strana:ers  a  beautiful  charac- 


CARLYLE  191 

ter  whose  charm  and  force  are  felt  by  his  friends, 
but  have  no  proportionate  expression  in  his  writ- 
ings. As  an  essayist  he  has  left  models  in  many 
branches:  "  Mirabeau,"  "Johnson,"  "Goethe," 
"  Characteristics,"  "  Burns,"  "  History,"  stand  as 
foothills  before  his  more  massive  works.  His  is 
creative  criticism,  never  restricted,  like  the  criti- 
cism of  the  schools,  to  purely  literary,  academic 
considerations,  but  penetrating  to  the  inmost  heart 
of  a  book  or  a  man,  to  discover  what  deepest 
human  significance  may  there  be  found.  A  later 
generation  has,  as  we  have  noted,  adopted  a  differ- 
ent treatment  in  all  these  fields  :  bending  itself  to 
trace  the  ancestry  and  to  map  out  the  environ- 
ment of  men  of  genius  ;  concentrating  attention  on 
the  chain  rather  than  its  links ;  necessarily  belit- 
tling the  individual  to  aggrandize  the  mass.  It 
behooves  us,  while  we  recognize  the  value  of  this 
treatment  as  a  new  means  to  truth,  not  to  forget 
that  it  is  not  the  only  one.  By  and  by  —  perhaps 
the  time  is  already  at  hand  —  we  shall  recognize 
that  the  other  method,  which  deals  with  the  indi- 
vidual as  an  ultimate  rather  than  in  relation  to  a 
series,  which  is  human  rather  than  abstract,  cannot 
be  neglected  without  injury  to  truth.  Either  alone 
is  partial ;  each  corrects  and  enlightens  the  other. 

Meanwhile  we  will  indulge  in  no  vain  prophe- 
cies as  to  Carlyle's  probable  rank  with  posterity. 
That  a  man's  influence  shall  be  permanent  depends 


192  PORTRAITS 

first  on  his  having  grasped  elemental  facts  in  hu- 
man nature,  and  next  on  his  having  given  them  an 
enduring  form.  Systems  struggle  into  existence, 
mature,  and  pass  away,  but  the  needs  of  the 
individual  remain.  Though  we  were  to  wake  up 
to-morrow  in  Utopia,  the  next  day  Utopia  would 
have  vanished,  unless  we  ourselves  had  been  mira- 
culously transformed.  To  teach  the  individual 
soul  the  way  of  purification  ;  to  make  it  a  worthy 
citizen  of  Eternity  which  laps  it  around ;  to  kindle 
its  conscience  ;  to  fortify  it  with  courage  ;  to  hu- 
manize it  with  sympathy ;  to  make  it  true,  —  this 
has  been  Carlyle's  mission,  performed  with  all  the 
vigor  of  a  spirit  "  in  earnest  with  the  universe," 
and  with  intellectual  gifts  most  various,  most  pow- 
erful, most  rare.  It  will  be  strange  if,  in  time  to 
come,  souls  with  these  needs,  which  are  perpetual, 
lose  contact  with  him.  But,  whatever  befall  in 
the  future,  Carlyle's  past  is  secure.  He  has  influ- 
enced the  elite  of  two  generations :  men  as  differ- 
ent as  Tyndall  and  Ruskin,  as  Mill  and  Tennyson, 
as  Browning  and  Arnold  and  Meredith,  have  felt 
the  infusion  of  his  moral  force.  And  to  the  new 
generation  we  would  say  :  "  Open  your  '  Sartor  ; ' 
there  you  shall  hear  the  deepest  utterances  of  Brit- 
ain in  our  century  on  matters  which  concern  you 
most ;  there,  perad  venture,  you  shall  discover  your- 
selves." 


TINTORET.i 

I.     HIS    LIFE. 

We  have  no  authentic  biography  of  Tintoret. 
The  men  of  his  epoch  hungered  for  fame,  but  it 
was  by  the  splendor  of  their  genius,  and  not  by 
the  details  of  their  personal  lives,  that  they  hoped 
to  be  known  to  posterity.  The  days  of  judicious 
Boswells  and  injudicious  Froudes  had  not  then 
come  to  pass ;  so  that  we  are  now  as  ignorant  of 
the  lives  of  the  painters  of  the  great  school  which 
flourished  at  Venice  during  the  sixteenth  century 
as  of  the  lives  of  that  group  of  poets  who  flour- 
ished in  England  during  the  reigns  of  Elizabeth 
and  James  I.  Nevertheless,  Providence  sees  to  it 
that  nothing  essential  be  lost ;  and,  in  the  absence 
of  memoirs,  the  masterpiece  itself  becomes  a  me- 
moir for  those  who  have  insight.  In  art,  works 
which  proceed  from  the  soul,  and  not  from  the 
skill,  are  truthful  witnesses  to  the  character  of 
the  artist.  "  For  by  the  greatness  and  beauty  of 
the  creatures  })roportionably  the  maker  of  them  is 
seen."     It  is  not  wholly  to  be  regretted,  therefore, 

*  First  printed  in  The  Atlantic  Monthly,  June,  1891. 


194  PORTRAITS 

that  the  meagreness  of  our  information  concerning 
Tintoret  compels  us  to  study  his  paintings  the 
more  earnestly.  The  lives  of  artists  are  generally 
scanty  in  those  adventures  and  dramatic  incidents 
which  make  entertaining  biographies.  Men  of 
action  express  their  character  in  deeds:  poems, 
statues,  paintings,  are  the  deeds  of  artists.  Blot 
out  a  few  pages  of  history,  and  what  remains  of 
Hannibal  or  Scipio  ?  But  we  should  know  much 
about  Michael  Angelo  or  Raphael  from  their  paint- 
ings, had  no  written  word  about  either  come  down 
to  us. 

The  year  of  Tintoret's  birth  is  variously  stated 
as  1512  and  1518.  Even  his  name  has  been  a 
cause  of  dispute  to  antiquaries ;  but  since  he  was 
content  to  call  and  sign  himself  Jacopo  (or  Gia- 
como)  Robusti,  we  may  accept  this  as  correct. 
His  father  was  a  dyer  of  silk  (tintore)^  and  as  the 
boy  early  helped  at  that  trade  he  got  the  nickname 
il  tintoretto^  "  the  little  dyer."  Vasari,  also  born 
in  1512,  is  the  only  contemporary  who  furnishes 
an  account  of  Tintoret.  Unsatisfactory  and  well- 
nigh  ridiculous  it  is,  if  we  remember  that  by  1574, 
when  Vasari  died,  Tintoret  had  already  produced 
many  of  his  masterpieces.  Yet  the  Florentine 
painter-historian  did  not  accord  to  him  so  much 
as  a  separate  chapter  in  his  "  Lives  of  the  Most 
Excellent  Painters,"  but  inserted  his  few  pages  of 


TINTORET  195 

criticism  and  gossip,  as  if  by  an  afterthought,  in  the 
sketch  of  the  forgotten  Battista  Franco.  Since 
much  that  has  been  subsequently  written  about 
Tintoret  is  merely  a  repetition  of  Vasari's  shallow 
opinions,  which  created  a  mythical  Tintoret,  just 
as  English  reviewers  created  a  mythical  "  Johnny 
Keats,"  long  believed  to  be  the  real  Keats,  I  quote 
a  few  sentences  from  Vasari. 

"  There  still  lives  in  Venice,"  he  says,  "  a  painter 
called  Jacopo  Tintoretto,  who  has  amused  himself 
with  all  accomplishments,  and  particularly  with 
playing  music  and  several  instruments,  and  is, 
besides,  pleasing  in  all  his  actions  ;  but  in  mat- 
ters of  painting  he  is  extravagant,  full  of  caprice, 
dashing,  and  resolute,  the  most  terrible  brain  that 
painting  ever  had,  as  you  may  see  in  all  his  works, 
and  in  his  compositions  of  fantastic  subjects,  done 
by  him  diversely  and  contrary  to  the  custom  of 
other  painters.  Nay,  he  has  capped  extravagance 
with  the  novel  and  whimsical  inventions  and  odd 
devices  of  his  intellect,  which  he  has  used  haphaz- 
ard and  without  design,  as  if  to  show  that  this  art 
is  a  trifle.  .  .  .  And  because  in  his  youth  he 
showed  himself  in  many  fair  works  of  great  judg- 
ment, if  he  had  recognized  the  great  endowment 
which  he  received  from  nature,  and  had  fortified  it 
with  study  and  judgment,  as  those  have  done  who 
have  followed  the  fine  manner  of  his  elders,  and 


196  PORTRAITS 

if  he  had  not  (as  he  has  done)  cut  loose  from 
practiced  rules,  he  would  have  been  one  of  the 
greatest  painters  that  ever  Venice  had;  yet,  for 
all  this,  we  would  not  deny  that  he  is  a  proud  and 
good  painter,  with  an  alert,  capricious,  and  refined 
spirit."  1 

Evidently,  the  originality  of  this  "  terrible  '* 
Tintoret  could  not  be  understood  by  Vasari,  who 
imagined  that  he  followed  successfully  the  fine 
manner  of  his  elders  in  the  academic  proprieties. 
But  there  is  no  hint  that  Tintoret  heeded  this  gen- 
erous advice.  Perhaps  it  came  too  late,  —  at  three- 
score years  one's  character  and  methods  are  no 
longer  plastic  ;  perhaps  it  had  been  too  often  reit- 
erated, for  Tintoret  had  been  assured  from  his 
youth  up  that,  if  he  would  only  be  instructed  by 
his  feUow-artists,  he  might  hope  to  become  a  great 
painter  like  them.  But,  from  the  first  glimpse  we 
get  of  this  perverse  Tintoret  to  the  last,  one  char- 
acteristic dominates  all,  —  obedience  to  his  own 
genius.     Censure,    coaxing,   fashion,    envy,    popu- 

^  Vasari's  condescending  estimate  of  Tintoret  may  remind 
some  readers  of  Voltaire's  patronizing  estimate  of  Shakespeare : 
"  It  seems  as  though  nature  had  mingled  in  the  brain  of  Shake- 
speare the  greatest  conceivable  strength  and  grandeur  with 
whatever  witless  vulgarity  can  devise  that  is  lowest  and  most 
detestable  ;  "  and  much  more  of  the  same  kind  about  the  "  in- 
toxicated barbarian,"  which  will  seem  pitiful  or  amusing  accord- 
ing to  the  humor  of  the  reader. 


TINTORET  197 

larity,  seem  never  to  have  swerved  him.  Like 
every  consummate  genius,  he  drew  his  inspiration 
directly  from  within.  "  Conform !  conform  I  or 
be  written  down  a  fool ! "  has  always  been  the 
greeting  of  the  world  to  the  self-centred,  spirit- 
guided  few.  "  Right  or  wrong,  I  cannot  other- 
wise," has  been  their  invariable  reply. 

By  the  time  that  Tintoret  made  his  first  essays 
in  painting,  the  Venetian  school  was  the  foremost 
in  the  world.  The  great  Leonardo  had  died  in 
France,  leaving  behind  him  in  Lombardy  a  com- 
pany of  pupils  who  were  rapidly  enslaved  by  a 
graceless  mannerism.  Even  earlier  than  this,  the 
best  talents  of  Umbria  had  wandered  into  feeble 
eccentricities,  or  had  been  absorbed  by  Raphael's 
large  humanism.  Raphael  himself  was  dead,  at 
the  height  of  his  popularity  and  in  the  prime  of 
his  powers,  and  his  disciples  were  hurrying  along 
the  road  of  imitation  into  the  desert  of  formalism. 
Michael  Angelo  alone  survived  in  central  Italy,  a 
Titan  too  colossal,  too  individual,  to  be  a  school- 
master, although  there  were  many  of  the  younger 
brood  (Vasari  among  them)  who  called  him  Maes- 
tro, and  fancied  that  the  grimaces  and  contortions 
they  drew  sprang  from  force  and  grandeur  sucli  as 
his.  But  in  Venice  painting  was  flourishing ;  there 
it  had  the  exuberance  and  the  strength,  the  joyous- 
ness  and  the  splendor,  of  an  art  approaching  its 


198  PORTRAITS 

meridian.  John  Bellini,  the  eldest  of  the  great 
Venetians,  had  died  ;  but  not  before  there  had 
issued  from  his  studio  a  wonderful  band  of  disci- 
ples, some  of  whom  were  destined  to  surpass  him. 
Giorgione,  one  of  these,  had  been  cut  off  in  his 
thirty-fourth  year,  having  barely  had  time  to  give 
to  the  world  a  few  handsels  of  his  genius.  The 
fame  of  Titian  had  risen  to  that  height  where  it 
has  ever  since  held  its  station.  A  troop  of  lesser 
men — lesser  in  comparison  with  him  —  were  em- 
bellishing Venice,  or  carrying  the  magic  of  her 
art  to  other  parts  of  Italy. 

The  tradition  runs  that  the  boy  Tintoret  amused 
himself  by  drawing  charcoal  figures  on  the  wall, 
then  coloring  them  with  his  father's  dyes  :  whence 
his  parents  were  persuaded  that  he  was  born  to  be 
a  painter.  Accordingly,  his  father  got  permission 
for  him  to  work  in  Titian's  studio,  the  privilege 
most  coveted  by  every  apprentice  of  the  time.  His 
stay  there  was  brief,  however  ;  hardly  above  ten 
days,  if  the  legend  be  true  which  tells  how  Titian 
returned  one  day  and  saw  some  strange  sketches, 
and  how,  learning  that  Tintoret  had  made  them, 
he  bade  another  pupil  send  him  away.  Some  say 
that  Titian  already  foresaw  a  rival  in  the  youthful 
draughtsman  ;  others,  that  the  figures  were  in  a 
style  so  contrary  to  the  master's  that  he  discerned 
no  good  in   them,  and  judged  that  it  would  be 


TINTORET  199 

useless  for  Tintoret  to  pursue  an  art  in  which  he 
could  never  excel.  Let  the  dyer's  son  go  back  to 
his  vats :  there  he  could  at  least  earn  a  livelihood. 
We  are  loth  to  believe  that  Titian,  whose  reputa- 
tion was  established,  could  have  been  moved  by- 
jealousy  of  a  mere  novice :  we  must  remember, 
nevertheless,  that  even  when  Tintoret  had  come  to 
maturity,  and  was  reckoned  among  the  leading 
painters  of  Venice,  Titian  treated  him  coldly,  and 
apparently  thwarted  and  disparaged  him.  Few 
artists,  indeed,  have  risen  quite  above  the  marsh- 
mists  of  jealousy.  Their  ambition  regards  fame 
as  a  fixed  quantity,  and,  like  Goldsmith,  they  look 
upon  any  one  who  acquires  a  part  of  this  treasure 
as  having  diminished  the  amount  they  can  appro- 
priate for  themselves.  But  in  Tintoret's  great 
soul  envy  could  find  no  place.  "  Enmities  he  has 
none,"  as  Emerson  says  of  Goethe.  "  Enemy  of 
him  you  may  be :  if  so,  you  shall  teach  him  aught 
which  your  good-will  cannot,  were  it  only  what 
experience  will  accrue  from  your  ruin.  Enemy 
and  welcome,  but  enemy  on  high  terms.  He  can- 
not hate  anybody  ;  his  time  is  worth  too  much." 

Under  whom  Tintoret  studied,  after  being  thrust 
off  by  Titian,  we  are  not  told.  Probably  he  had 
no  acknowledged  preceptor  except  himself.  Al- 
ready his  aim  was  at  the  highest.  On  the  wall  of 
his  studio  he  blazoned  tlie  motto,  "  The  drawing 


200  PORTRAITS 

of  M'lchad  Angela  and  the  coloring  of  Titian.^^ 
To  blend  the  excellence  of  each  in  a  supreme 
unity,  —  that  was  his  ambition.  Titian  might  shut 
him  out  from  personal  instruction,  but  Titian's 
works  in  the  churches  and  palaces  were  within 
reach.  Tintoret  studied  them,  copied  them,  and 
conjured  from  them  the  secret  their  master  wished 
to  hide.  Having  procured  casts  of  Michael  An- 
gelo's  statues  in  the  Medicean  Chapel  at  Florence, 
he  made  drawings  of  them  in  every  position.  Far 
into  the  night  he  worked  by  lamplight,  watching 
the  play  of  light  and  shade,  the  outlines  and  the 
relief.  He  drew  also  from  living  models,  and 
learned  anatomy  by  dissecting  corpses.  He  in- 
vented "  little  figures  of  wax  and  of  clay,  clothing 
them  with  bits  of  cloth,  examining  accurately,  by 
the  folds  of  the  dresses,  the  position  of  the  limbs ; 
and  these  models  he  distributed  among  little  houses 
and  perspectives  composed  of  planks  and  card- 
board, and  he  put  lights  in  the  windows."  From 
the  rafters  he  suspended  other  manikins,  and 
thereby  learned  the  foreshortening  proper  to  fig- 
ures painted  on  ceilings  and  on  high  places.  So 
indefatigable,  so  careful,  was  this  man,  who  is 
known  to  posterity  as  "  the  thunderbolt  of  paint- 
ers " !  In  his  prime,  he  astonished  all  by  his 
power  of  elaborating  his  ideas  at  a  speed  at  which 
few  masters  can  even  sketch ;  but  that  power  was 


TINTORET  201 

nourislied  by  his  infinite  painstaking  in  those  years 
of  obscurity. 

Wherever  Tintoret  might  learn,  thither  he  went. 
Now  we  hear  of  him  working  with  the  masons 
at  Cittadella ;  now  taking  his  seat  on  the  bench 
of  the  journeymen  painters  in  St.  Mark's  Place ; 
now  watching  some  illustrious  master  decorating 
the  facade  of  a  palace.  No  commission  was  too 
humble  for  him  :  who  knows  how  many  signboards 
he  may  have  furnished  in  his  'prentice  days  ?  His 
first  recorded  works  were  two  portraits,  —  of  him- 
self holding  a  bas-relief  in  his  hand,  and  of  his 
brotlier  playing  a  cithern.  As  the  custom  then 
was,  he  exhibited  these  in  the  Merceria,  that  nar- 
row lane  of  shops  which  leads  from  St.  Mark's  to 
the  Ilialto.  "What  the  latest  novel  or  yesterday's 
political  speech  is  to  us,  that  was  a  new  picture  to 
the  Venetians.  Their  innate  sense  of  color  and 
beauty  and  their  familiarity  with  the  best  works 
of  art  made  them  ready  critics.  They  knew 
whether  the  colors  on  a  canvas  were  in  harmony, 
as  the  average  Italian  of  to-day  can  tell  whether 
a  singer  keeps  the  key,  and  doubtless  they  were 
vivacious  in  their  discussions.  Tintoret's  portraits 
attracted  attention.  They  were  painted  with  noc- 
tninal  lights  and  shadows,  "  in  so  terrible  a  manner 
that  tliey  amazed  every  one,"  even  to  the  degree  of 
suggesting  to  one  beholder  the  following  epigram ; 


202  PORTRAITS 

"  Si  Tinctorectus  noctis  sic  lucet  in  umbris, 
Exorto  faciei  quid  radiante  die  ?  "  ^ 

Soon  after,  he  displayed  on  the  Rialto  bridge  an- 
other picture,  by  which  the  surprise  already  ex- 
cited was  increased,  and  he  began  thenceforward  to 
get  employment  in  the  smaller  churches  and  con- 
vents. Important  commissions  which  brought 
wealth  and  honors  were  reserved  for  Titian  and 
a  few  favorites ;  but  Tintoret  rejected  no  offer. 
Only  let  him  express  those  ideas  swarming  in  his 
imagination  :  he  asked  no  further  recompense.  He 
seems  to  have  been  early  noted  for  the  practice  of 
taking  no  pay  at  all,  or  only  enough  to  provide 
his  paints  and  canvas,  —  a  practice  which  brought 
upon  him  the  abuse  of  his  fellows,  who  cried  out 
that  be  would  ruin  their  profession.  But  there 
was  then  no  law  to  prohibit  artist  or  artisan  from 
working  for  any  price  he  chose,  and  Tintoret,  as 
usual,  took  his  own  course. 

At  last  a  great  opportunity  offered.  On  each 
side  of  the  high  altar  of  the  Church  of  Sta.  Maria 
dell'  Orto  was  a  bare  space,  nearly  fifty  feet  high 
and  fifteen  or  twenty  feet  broad.  "  Let  me  paint 
you  two  pictures,"  said  Tintoret  to  the  friars,  who 
laughed  at  the  extravagant  proposal.  "  A  whole 
year's  income  would  not  suffice  for  such  an  under- 

^  If  Tintoret  shines  thus  in  the  shades  of  night,  what  will  he 
do  when  radiant  day  has  risen  ? 


TINTORET  203 

taking,"  they  replied.  "You  shall  have  no  ex- 
pense but  for  the  canvas  and  colors,"  said  Tinto- 
ret.  "  I  shall  charge  nothing  for  my  work."  And 
on  these  terms  he  executed  "  The  Last  Judgment " 
and  "The  Worship  of  the  Golden  Calf."  The 
creator  of  those  masterpieces  could  no  longer  be 
ignored.  Here  was  a  power,  a  variety,  which  hos- 
tility and  envy  could  not  gainsay :  they  must  note, 
though  they  refused  to  admire.  It  was  in  1546,  or 
thereabouts,  that  Tintoi-et  uttered  this  challenge. 
In  a  little  while  he  had  orders  for  four  pictures 
for  the  School  of  St.  Mark  ;  one  of  which,  "  St. 
Mark  Freeing  a  Fugitive  Slave,"  soon  became' 
popular,  and  has  continued  so.  "  Here  is  color- 
ing as  rich  as  Titian's,  and  energy  as  daring  as 
Michael  Angelo's  !  "  visitors  still  exclaim.  Other 
commissions  followed,  until  there  came  that  which 
the  Venetian  prized  above  all  others,  —  an  order 
to  paint  for  the  Ducal  Palace. 

As  the  patriotic  Briton  aspires  to  a  monument 
in  Westminster  Abbey,  as  the  Florentine  covets  a 
memorial  in  Santa  Croce,  so  the  Venetian  artist 
coveted  for  his  works  a  place  in  the  Palace  of  the 
Doges.  That  was  his  Temple  of  Fame.  His  dream, 
liowever,  soared  beyond  the  gratification  of  per- 
sonal ambition  :  he  desired  that  through  him  the 
glory  and  beauty  of  Venice  might  be  enhanced  and 
immortalized.    This  devotion  to  the  ideal  of  a  city, 


204  PORTRAITS 

this  true  patriotism,  lias  unfortunately  almost  dis- 
appeared from  the  earth.  The  very  conception  of 
it  is  now  unintelligible  to  most  persons.  The  city 
where  you  live  —  New  York,  Boston,  Loudon  — 
you  value  in  proportion  as  it  affords  advantages 
for  your  business,  objects  for  your  comfort  and 
amusement ;  but  you  quit  it  without  compunction 
if  taxes  be  lower  and  trade  brisker  elsewhere. 
You  ai-e  interested  in  its  affairs  just  in  so  far  as 
they  affect  your  own.  When  you  build  a  dwelling 
or  a  factory,  you  do  not  inquire  whether  it  will 
improve  or  injure  your  neighbor's  property,  much 
less  whether  it  will  be  an  ornament  to  the  city; 
you  need  not  even  abate  a  nuisance  until  com- 
pelled to  do  so  by  the  law. 

But  to  the  noble-minded  Venetian,  his  city  was 
not  merely  a  convenience :  it  was  a  personality. 
Venezia  was  a  spiritual  patroness,  a  goddess  who 
presided  over  the  destiny  of  the  State  ;  he  and 
every  one  of  his  fellow-citizens  shared  the  honor 
and  blessing  of  her  protection.  She  had  crowned 
with  prosperity  the  energy  and  piety,  the  rectitude 
and  justice,  of  his  ancestors  through  many  centu- 
ries. Every  act  of  his  had  more  than  a  personal, 
more  even  than  a  human,  bearing.  How  would 
it  affect  her  f  —  that  was  his  test.  He  could  do 
nothing  unto  himself  alone  ;  for  good  or  for  ill, 
what  he  did  reacted  upon  the  community,  upon  the 


TINTORET  205 

ideal  Venezia.  The  outward  citj'^  —  the  churches, 
palaces,  and  dwellings  —  was  but  the  garment  and 
visible  expression  of  that  ideal  city.  Venezia  had 
blessed  him,  and  he  was  grateful ;  she  was  beau- 
tiful, and  he  loved  her.  His  gratitude  impelled 
him  to  deeds  worthy  of  her  protection ;  his  love 
blossomed  in  gifts  that  should  increase  her  beauty. 

This  reverence  and  devotion  have,  as  I  re- 
marked, vanished  from  among  men  ;  yet  in  this 
ideal  beams  the  conception  of  the  true  common- 
wealth. Observe  that  those  three  cities  which  held 
such  an  ideal  before  them  have  bequeathed  to  us 
the  most  precious  works  of  beauty,  Athens,  Flor- 
ence, Venice,  —  these  are  the  Graces  among  the 
cities.  At  Karnak,  at  Constantinople,  at  Rome, 
at  Paris,  you  will  behold  stupendous  ruins  or  im- 
posing monuments  commemorating  the  pride  and 
power  of  individual  Pharaohs,  Sultans,  Caesars, 
Popes,  and  Napoleons,  but  you  will  not  find  the 
spirit  which  was  worshiped  by  the  beautifying  of 
the  Acropolis,  and  of  republican  Florence,  and  of 
Venice.  In  which  modern  city  will  the  most  dili- 
gent search  discover  it? 

Tintoret,  then,  had  at  last  earned  the  privilege 
of  consecrating  liis  genius  to  Venezia.  His  first 
work  for  her  seems  to  liave  been  a  portrait  of  the 
reigning  Doge.^     Then   he  painted  two  historical 

^  It  13  interestiiiy  to   kiiuw   tliut  the  price  regularly  paid  to 


206  PORTRAITS 

subjects,  —  "  Frederick  Barbarossa  being  crowned 
by  Pope  Adrian,"  and  "  Pope  Alexander  III  ex- 
eonmuinicating  Frederick  Barbarossa  : "  and  **  The 
Last  Judgment,"  destroyed  by  the  fire  of  1557. 
Not  long  thereafter  began  his  employment  by  the 
brothers  of  the  confraternity  of  San  Rocco.  For 
their  church,  about  1560.  he  painted  two  scenes  in 
the  life  of  St.  Koch,  and  then  he  joined  in  compe- 
tition for  a  ceiling  painting  for  the  Salla  dell'  Al- 
berto in  the  School  itseK.  The  brothers  called 
for  designs,  and  upon  the  appointed  day  Paul  Ve- 
ronese, Andrea  Schiavone,  Giuseppe  Salviati,  and 
Federigo  Zuccaro  submitted  theirs.  But  Tintoret 
had  out^ped  them,  and  when  his  design  was  asked 
for  he  caused  a  screen  to.be  removed  from  the 
ceiling,  and  lo !  there  was  a  finished  picture  of  the 
specified  subject.  Brothers  and  competitors  were 
astonished,  and  not  greatly  pleased.  "  We  asked 
for  sketches,"  said  the  former.  "  That  is  the  way 
I  make  my  sketches,"  replied  Tintoret.  They  de- 
murred :  but  Tintoret  presented  the  picture  to  the 
SchooL  one  of  whose  rules  made  it  obligatory  that 
all  gifts  should  be  accepted.  The  displeasirre  of 
the  confraternity  soon  passed  away,  and  Tintoret 

Titian  and  Tintoret  for  state  portraits  was  frsrenty-fiTe  ducats 
(about  thirty-one  dollars).  Painters  who  hare  not  a  hundredth 
part  of  the  renins  of  either  Titian  or  Tintoret  now  receive  one 
hundred  tinies  that  sum. 


TINTORET  207 

was  commissioned  to  furnish  whatever  paintings 
should  be  required  in  future.  An  annual  salaiy 
of  one  hundred  ducats  was  bestowed  upon  him,  in 
return  for  which  he  was  to  give  at  least  one  paint- 
ing a  year.  Generously  did  he  fulfil  the  con- 
tract ;  for  at  his  death  the  School  possessed  more 
than  sixty  of  his  works,  for  which  he  had  been 
paid  but  twenty-four  hundred  and  forty-seven 
ducats. 

In  1577  a  fire  in  the  Ducal  Palace  destroyed 
many  of  the  paintings,  and  when  the  edifice  was 
restored  the  government  looked  for  artists  to  re- 
place them.  Titian  being  dead,  his  opposition  had 
no  longer  to  be  overcome ;  yet  even  now  Tintoret 
had  to  compete  with  men  of  inferior  powers,  but 
of  stronger  influence.  Nevertheless,  to  him  and 
Paul  Veronese  was  assigned  the  lion's  share  of  the 
undertaking,  and  for  ten  years  those  two  men 
labored  side  by  side,  in  noble  rivalry,  to  eternize 
the  beauty  and  the  glory  of  Venice.  In  1588, 
owing  to  the  death  of  Paul  Veronese,  who  with 
Francesco  Bassano  had  been  commissioned  to  paint 
a  "  Paradise  "  in  the  Hall  of  the  Grand  Council, 
the  work  was  transferred  to  Tintoret,  who  devoted 
to  it  the  last  six  years  of  his  life,  and  left  in  it  the 
highest  expression  not  only  of  his  genius,  but  of 
Italian  painting.^  Old  age  robbed  him  of  none 
1  Has  any  on^  remarked  that  when  Tintoret  was  painting  the 


•208  PORTRAITS 

of  his  energy,  but  added  sublimity  to  his  imagi- 
nation, and  interfused  serenity  and  mellowness 
throughout  his  work.  Still  teeming  with  plans, 
he  died  of  a  gastric  trouble,  after  a  fortnight's  ill- 
ness, on  the  31st  of  May,  1594.1 

With  this  clue,  spun  from  the  discursive  records 
of  Ridolfi  (whose  Meraviglie  delV  Arte  was  first 
published  in  1648),  we  can  pass  through  the  laby- 
rinth of  Tintoret's  career.  There  are,  besides, 
several  anecdotes  which  help  us  to  know  the  man's 
personality  better :  if  all  be  not  authentic,  at  least 
all  agree  in  attributing  to  him  certain  weU-defined 
traits. 

As  a  workman,  as  we  have  seen,  Tintoret  was 
indefatigable.  His  lifelong  yearning  was  not  for 
praise,  but  for  opportunity  to  work.  Modesty  he 
had  to  a  degree  unrecorded  of  any  other  painter, 
although  none  seems  to  have  been  more  confident 
of  his  own  powers.^     Like  Shakespeare,  he  wrought 

"  Paradise,"  Cervantes,  Spain's  spokesman  before  the  nations, 
Montaigne,  the  largest  figure  in  French  literature,  and  Shake- 
speare, paragon  not  of  England  only,  but  of  the  world,  were  his 
contemporaries  ?  Those  four  might  have  met  in  his  studio  ;  and 
Science  might  have  furnished  three  peerless  representatives, — 
Bacon,  Galileo,  and  Kepler. 

1  Tintoret  is  buried  in  the  church  of  Santa  Maria  dell'  Orto. 

2  Two  instances  are  worthy  of  record.  Having  agreed  to  paint 
a  large  historical  picture  for  the  Doges'  Palace,  he  said  to  the 
procurators,  "  If  any  other  shall,  within  the  space  of  two  years, 
paint  a  better  picture  of  this  subject,  you  shall  take  his  and  reject 


TINTORET  209 

his  masterpieces  swiftly,  and  left  them  to  their  fate, 
because  his  imagination,  like  Shakespeare's,  was 
already  on  the  wing  for  higher  quarry.  There 
was  in  the  man  an  inflexible  dignity,  born  of  self- 
respect,  which  neither  the  allurements  of  poi3ularity 
nor  the  flattery  of  the  great  could  bend.  When 
invited  by  the  Duke  of  Mantua  to  go  to  that  city 
and  execute  some  paintings,  Tintoret  replied  that 
wherever  he  went  his  wife  wished  to  accompany 
him ;  at  which  the  Duke  bade  him  bring  his  wife 
and  family,  had  them  conveyed  to  Mantua  in  a 
state  barge,  and  entertained  them  at  his  palace 
"  at  magnificent  expense  for  many  days."  He 
urged  Tintoret  to  settle  there ;  but  the  Venetian 
could  not  be  persuaded  to  renounce  his  allegiance 
to  Venice.  He  saw  that  titles  would  add  nothing 
to  his  fame,  and  refused  an  offer  of  knighthood 
from  Henry  HI  of  France.  Princes  and  gran- 
dees and  illustrious  visitors  to  Venice  went  to  his 
house ;  but  though  he  received  them  courteously, 
he  sought  no  intimacy  with  them.  His  time  was 
too  precious,  his  projects  were  too  earnest,  to  allow 
of  aristocratic  dissipation.     He  had  a  keen  sense 

mine."  At  first  his  enemies  spoke  so  censuringly  of  his  "  St.  Mark 
Freeing  the  Fugitive  Slave  "  that  the  brethren  hesitated  wlietlier 
to  accept  it ;  whereupon  Tintoret  liad  it  brouglit  back  to  his 
studio.  Afterwards  the  brethren  repented,  begged  for  its  return, 
and  ordered  three  other  pictures. 


210  PORTRAITS 

of  humor,  which  displayed  itself  now  in  some 
ready  reply,  now  in  genial  conversation  with  his 
familiars.  Ridolfi  relates  that  certain  prelates 
and  senators  who  visited  him  whilst  he  was  mak- 
ing sketches  for  the  "  Paradise "  asked  him  why 
he  worked  so  hurriedly,  whereas  John  Bellini  and 
Titian  had  been  deliberate  and  painstaking.  "  The 
old  masters,"  said  Tintoret,  "  had  not  so  many 
to  bother  them  as  I  have."  At  another  time,  at 
a  gathering  of  amateurs,  a  woman's  portrait  by 
Titian  was  lauded.  "  That 's  the  way  to  paint," 
said  one  of  the  critics.  Tintoret  went  home,  took 
a  sketch  by  Titian  and  covered  it  with  lampblack, 
painted  a  head  in  Titian's  manner  on  the  same 
canvas,  and  showed  it  at  the  next  meeting  of  these 
amateurs.  "  Ah,  there 's  a  real  Titian  !  "  they  all 
agreed.  Tintoret  rubbed  off  the  lampblack  from 
the  original  sketch  and  said :  "  This,  gentlemen, 
is  indeed  by  Titian  ;  that  which  you  have  admired 
is  mine.  You  see  now  how  authority  and  opinion 
prevail  in  criticism,  and  how  few  there  are  who 
really  understand  painting." 

Pietro  Aretino,  that  depraved  adventurer  and 
most  successful  blackmailer  in  literature,  was  one 
of  Titian's  intimates  and  partisans.  He  wished, 
nevertheless,  to  have  his  portrait  painted  by  Tinto- 
ret, who  was  in  no  wise  afraid  of  the  scoundrel's 
enmity,   although  most  of  the  prominent  person- 


TINTORET  211 

ages  of  the  time  quailed  before  it.  Aretino  being 
posed,  Tintoret  furiously  drew  a  hanger  from 
under  his  coat.  Aretino  was  terrified  lest  he  should 
be  punished  for  his  malicious  tongue,  and  cried 
out,  "  Jacopo,  what  are  you  about ? "  "I  am 
only  going  to  take  your  measure,"  said  Tintoret 
complacently  ;  and,  measuring  him  from  head  to 
foot,  he  added,  "  your  height  is  just  two  and  a 
half  hangers."  Aretino's  impudence  returned. 
"  You  're  a  great  madman,"  he  said,  "  and  always 
up  to  your  pranks."  But  this  grim  hint  sufficed  ; 
the  rascal  never  after  dared  to  slander  Tintoret, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  tried  to  ingratiate  himself 
into  his  friendship. 

In  his  home  Tintoret  enjoyed  tranquillity.  His 
wife,  Faustina  de'  Vescovi,  was  thrifty  and  digni- 
fied, and  perhaps  she  was  not  a  little  annoyed  by 
the  "  unpracticalness  "  of  her  husband.  According 
to  tradition,  when  he  went  out  she  tied  up  money 
for  him  in  his  handkerchief,  and  bade  him  give  an 
exact  account  of  it  on  his  return.  Having  spent 
his  afternoon  and  money  with  congenial  spirits  at 
some  rendezvous  whose  name,  unlike  that  of  the 
Mermaid,  where  Elizabethan  wits  caroused,  has 
been  lost,  he  playfully  assured  Madonna  Faustina 
that  her  allowance  had  gone  to  help  the  poor. 
She  was  particular  that  he  should  wear  the  dress 
of  a  Venetian  citizen  ;  but  if  he  happened  to  go 


212  PORTRAITS 

abroad  in  rainy  weather,  she  called  out  to  him 
from  an  upper  window  to  come  back  and  put  on 
his  old  clothes.  We  have  glimpses  of  him  passing 
to  and  fro  in  Venice  with  Marietta,  his  favorite 
daughter,  a  painter  of  merit,  whose  early  death 
saddened  his  later  years. ^  Of  his  other  children, 
two  daughters  entered  a  nimnery;  a  third  mar- 
ried Casser,  a  German  ;  his  eldest  son,  Domenico, 
adopted  his  father's  profession,  and  assisted  him 
in  his  work ;  another  son  went  to  the  bad,  and 
was  cut  off  from  an  inheritance  by  his  father's 
will.  In  spite  of  his  habit  of  giving  away  pic- 
tures, or  of  charging  a  small  price  for  them,  Tinto- 
ret  bequeathed  a  comfortable  fortune  to  his  heirs. 

A  few  of  his  precepts  and  suggestions  concern- 
ing art  have  come  down  to  us  through  Kidolfi,  who 
had  them  from  Aliense,  one  of  Tintoret's  pupils. 

"  The  study  of  painting  is  arduous,"  he  used 
to  say;  "and  to  him  who  advances  farthest  in 
it  more  difficulties  appear,  the  sea  grows  ever 
larger." 

"  Students  must  never  fail  to  profit  by  the  ex- 
ample of  the  great  masters,  Michael  Angelo  and 
Titian." 

"  Nature  is  always  the  same  ;  in  painting,  there- 
fore, muscles  must  not  be  varied  by  caprice." 

"In  judging  a  picture,  observe  if,  at  the  first 
1  Marietta  was  bom  in  1560,  and  died  in  1590. 


TINTORET  213 

examination,  the  eye  is  satisfied,  and  if  the  author 
has  obeyed  the  great  principles  of  art ;  as  to  the 
details,  each  will  fall  into  error.  Do  not  go  im- 
mediately to  look  at  a  new  work,  but  wait  till  the 
darts  of  criticism  have  all  been  shot,  and  men  are 
accustomed  to  the  sight." 

Being  asked  which  are  the  most  beautiful  colors, 
he  answered,  "  Black  and  white ;  because  the  for- 
mer gives  force  to  figures  by  deepening  the  shad- 
ows, the  latter  gives  the  relief." 

He  insisted  that  only  the  experienced  artist 
shoidd  draw  from  living  models,  which  lack,  for 
the  most  part,  grace  and  symmetrical  forms. 

"Fine  colors,"  he  said,  "are  sold  in  the  Rialto 
shops  ;  but  design  is  got  from  the  casket  of  genius, 
by  hard  study  and  long  vigils,  and  is  therefore 
understood  and  practiced  by  but  few." 

Odoardo  Fialeti  asked  him  what  to  study. 
"Drawing,"  replied  Tintoret.  Somewhat  later, 
Fialeti  sought  further  advice.  "  Drawing,  and 
again  drawing,"  Tintoret  reiterated. 

"  Art  must  perfect  nature,"  was  his  guiding 
rule ;  and  he  instanced  that  Greek  artist  who 
modeled  an  Aphrodite  by  selecting  the  best  fea- 
tures of  the  five  most  beautiful  women  he  could 
find. 

His  studio  was  in  the  most  retired  part  of  his 
house.     Few  were  admitted  to  it,  and  they  had  to 


214  PORTRAITS 

find  their  way  thither  up  a  dark  staircase  and 
along  dark  passages,  by  the  light  of  a  candle. 
There  he  spent  most  of  his  time,  —  a  grave  man 
ordinarily,  as  must  ever  be  the  case  with  genius 
which  ranges  the  utmost  abysses  and  sublimities  ; 
at  heart  a  solitary  man,  so  far  as  the  absence 
of  flesh-and-blood  companions  constitutes  solitude, 
but  forever  attended  by  the  great  associates  of  his 
imagination.  Laconic,  too,  in  speech  as  with  his 
brush  ;  as  when,  in  reply  to  a  long  letter  from  his 
brother,  he  wrote  simply,  "  Sir :  no."  But  upon 
occasion  —  as  that  anecdote  of  Madonna  Faustina's 
allowance  shows  —  he  indulged  in  conviviality ; 
and  he  had  the  gift,  peculiar  to  a  gentleman,  of 
*'  being  easy  with  persons  of  all  ranks,  and  of  put- 
ting them  at  ease."  "  With  his  friends  he  pre- 
served great  affability.  He  was  copious  in  fine 
sayings  and  witty  hits,  putting  them  forth  with 
much  grace,  but  without  sign  of  laughter ;  and 
when  he  deemed  it  opportune,  he  knew  also  how 
to  joke  with  the  great." 

Tintoret's  genius  was  only  partially  acknow- 
ledged during  his  lifetime,  and  his  fame  has  suf- 
fered strange  vicissitudes  since  his  death.  At 
times  he  has  been  extolled  with  meaningless  ex- 
travagance ;  oftener  condemned,  after  Vasari's 
lukewarm  fashion,  or  passed  over  without  men- 
tion.    Not  until  Mr.  Ruskin  came  and  opened  the 


TINTORET  215 

eyes  of  the  world  had  Tintoret  been  adequately 
appreciated  for  those  points  of  excellence  wherein 
he  has  neither  rival  nor  second.  He  has  suffered 
for  the  same  reasons  that  Shakespeare  was  long 
unesteemed  in  France  :  his  works  are  bold,  very 
rapid,  often  unequal,  not  in  the  least  to  be  mea- 
sured by  the  yardstick  of  conventionalism  ;  he 
treats  many  new  subjects,  and  the  old  subjects  he 
always  treats  in  new  fashion,  thereby  provoking 
formalists  to  accuse  him  of  wilful  oddity  or  ca- 
price ;  his  reputation  for  swiftness  of  execution 
was  deemed  by  many  presumptive  evidence  that 
he  was  superficial ;  above  all,  his  imagination  was 
so  rich  and  so  powerful  that  it  required  a  cognate 
imagination  to  follow  it. 

Moreover,  Tintoret  was  the  last  master  of  the 
great  era  of  Italian  painting.  After  him  came 
schools  which  did  not  rely  upon  originality,  but 
upon  the  inspiration  of  former  masters.  Pictures 
were  but  specimens  of  technique,  and  the  mod- 
els chosen  for  imitation  were  naturally  those  in 
which  technique  could  be  most  easily  reduced  to 
rules.  The  public,  as  well  as  the  painters  them- 
selves, gradually  lost  the  power  of  valuing  art  as  a 
spiritual  expression.  Word  by  word,  sentence  by 
sentence,  the  great  language  of  painting  was  for- 
gotten, until  at  last  it  became  as  a  dead  language. 
It  was  inevitable  that  Tintoret's  works,  which  had 


216  PORTRAITS 

not  always  been  understood  by  his  contempora- 
ries, should  baffle  the  iuterpreters  of  art  gram- 
mars and  the  pedagogues  of  technique. 

Again,  Tintoret's  pigments  have  suffered  more 
than  those  of  any  other  master.  The  darker 
colors,  in  many  cases,  have  become  almost  black ; 
the  lighter  have  faded,  and  sometimes  completely 
changed.^  How  far  this  is  due  to  an  original  de- 
fect in  the  paints,  how  far  to  exposure  and  neglect, 
I  cannot  say.  It  must  always  be  remembered  that, 
as  popular  canvases  have  been  frequently  var- 
nished and  restored,  many  Titians  and  Raphaels 
are  as  fresh  to-day  as  they  were  when  they  left  the 
easel.  How  much  remains  of  the  original  painting 
is  another  question.  Directors  of  galleries  aim  at 
pleasing  the  public,  not  at  respecting  the  prefer- 
ences of  connoisseurs,  and  the  public  craves  lively 
colors.  It  would  feel  itself  imposed  upon  if  it 
traveled  to  Dresden  only  to  find  the  "  Sixtine  Ma- 
donna "  as  dark  as  would  probably  be  the  case  if 
the  restorer  had  not  interfered.  In  every  gallery 
you  will  observe  that  the  crowds  flock  to  the 
brightest  pictures,  irrespective  of  their  merits. 
The  fact  that  they  have  been  kept  bright  is  an 
advertisement  that  they  are  deemed  precious  ;  and 
besides,  it  requires  less  time  to  glance  at  a  clean 

1  In  some  of  the  paintings  at  San  Giorgio  the  blues  are  now 
milky  splotches. 


TIXTORET  217 

canvas  and  pass  on  than  to  recover,  after  patient 
scrutiny  and  an  effort  of  the  imagination,  some  of' 
the  beauty  which  time  and  dust  conceal.  It  is 
significant  that  the  one  painting  by  Tintoret  which 
is  most  commonly  mentioned  by  all  classes  of  tour- 
ists —  "  St.  Mark  Freeing  a  Fugitive  Slave  "  — 
is  precisely  that  one  which  the  directors  of  the 
Venice  Academy  keep  polished  as  good  as  new. 

I  cannot  dismiss  this  subject  without  alluding 
to  another  cause  for  the  slight  attention  given  to 
Tintoret :  his  pictures  are  almost  invariably  con- 
demned to  oblivion  by  the  position  in  which  they 
have  been  hung.  You  must  look  for  them  in  dark 
corners  near  the  ceiling,  or  in  cross-lights  which 
render  an  examination  impossible.  Of  those  which 
still  exist  in  the  churches  for  which  they  were 
painted,  some  have  been  injured  by  the  drippings 
from  candles  ;  others  have  been  partly  hidden  by 
tabernacles,  reliquaries,  and  other  objects  of  church 
ceremonial.  Travelers  in  Venice  a  generation  ago 
record  that  rain  leaked  through  the  roof  of  the 
School  of  San  Rocco,  and  soaked  some  of  the  can- 
vases ;  others,  hung  near  windows,  have  had  to 
suffer  from  the  strong  sunlight  for  centuries.  In 
the  Ducal  Palace,  one  series  of  ceiling  paintings 
have  succumbed  to  the  daubing  of  restorers,  and 
are  now  hardly  recognizable  as  being  Tintoret's  ; 
while  the  matchless  "  Paradise,"  when  I  recently 


218  PORTRAITS 

saw  it,^  was  falling  rapidly  to  decay.  The  seams 
where  the  vast  canvas  was  originally  joined  had 
rotted  in  many  places ;  the  canvas  itself  was 
warped  and  rumpled,  forming  little  shelves  and 
unevennesses  on  which  the  dust  had  collected  so 
as  to  hide  the  colors  ;  and  from  the  ceiling  dan- 
gled a  ragged  fringe  of  cobwebs,  in  some  places 
two  or  three  feet  long. 

A  few  generations  hence,  when  these  incom- 
parable works  have  been  irretrievably  damaged, 
posterity  will  wonder  —  with  a  wonder  intensified 
by  indignation  —  that  we  allowed  them  to  perish. 
Early  Christians,  who  mutilated  pagan  works  of 
art  because  they  believed  them  to  be  pernicious, 
may  be  excused ;  but  what  excuse  has  our  age  to 
offer?  We  pretend  to  cherish  all  manifestations 
of  culture,  and  we  have  ample  means  to  preserve 
them  ;  yet  whilst  our  museums  are  daily  adding  to 
their  collections  of  half-barbarous  antiquities,  dug 
up  in  Arizona,  in  Mexico,  in  Yucatan,  in  Peru, 
in  Asia  Minor,  in  Mesopotamia,  there  are  surely 
hastening  to  destruction  scores  of  the  works  of 
the  mightiest  genius  who  ever  honored  painting. 
During  the  past  twenty  years.  New  York  mil- 
lionaires have  paid  more  for  the  immoralities  and 
inanities  of  modern  French  painters  than  would  be 
necessary  to  erect  a  separate  gallery  in  Venice  for 
1  In  August,  1889. 


TINTORET  219 

the  proper  preservation  of  Tintoret's  masterpieces. 
If  there  were  but  a  single  manuscript  of  Hamlet 
in  the  world,  and  no  printing-presses,  what  should 
we  say  to  those  who  allowed  it  to  perish  through 
neglect?  Yet  there  are  many  of  Tintoret's  pic- 
tures, each  of  them  as  precious  in  its  way  as  a 
page  of  Hamlet^  which  we  raise  no  voice  to  save. 
In  our  selfishness,  we  forget  that  the  treasures 
which  we  have  inherited  from  the  past  are  not 
ours  to  dissipate  and  destroy ;  we  hold  them  in 
trust  for  the  future,  and  woe  unto  us  if,  unmindful 
of  our  responsibility,  we  prove  careless  stewards.^ 

II.    HIS   WORKS. 

What,  then,  are  some  of  the  qualities  of  Tinto- 
ret's genius  ?  First  of  all,  he  had  vast  scope : 
Christian  and  classic  lore,  the  legend  and  story  of 
Venice,  contemporary  scenes,   and  portraiture,  — 

^  So  long  aa  the  originals  exist,  copies  of  great  paintings  are  as 
unsatisfactory  as  a  Beethoven  symphony  or  a  Wagner  opera  on 
the  piano  ;  but  when  the  originals  have  perished,  copies  may 
serve  a  worthy  purpose  in  perpetuating  at  least  the  concept  and 
general  treatment  of  the  painter.  It  is  greatly  to  be  desired 
that  some  capable  student  should  do  for  Tintoret  what  Toschi 
has  done  for  Correggio  at  Parma.  A  series  of  faithfully  exe- 
cuted sketches  would  enable  posterity  to  judge  of  Tintoret's 
range  of  imagination  and  inexliaustible  powers  of  treatment, 
altliough  his  coloring  and  drawing  could  not  be  reproduced. 
Many  of  his  paintings  have  never  been  engraved,  and  not  one 
has  been  well  engraved. 


220  PORTRAITS 

all  these  lay  within  his  province.  But  scope  alone, 
unguided  by  rarer  powers,  does  not  suffice  for 
the  equipment  of  the  supreme  master.  Rubens 
had  scope,  even  Dore  had  it,  and  neither  ranks 
among  the  foremost.  In  Tintoret  it  was  accom- 
panied by  a  most  intense  imagination,  which  pene- 
trated to  the  elemental  reality  and  understood  the 
intertangled  relations  of  life.  Imagination  oper- 
ated through  him  with  a  vigor  more  like  Nature's 
own  than  that  of  any  other  man  except  Shake- 
speare ;  a  vigor  which  seems  at  once  inexhausti- 
ble and  effortless,  which  never  wastes  and  never 
scants.  In  creating  a  beggar  or  a  seraph  he  ex- 
pended just  as  much  energy  as  was  necessary  for 
each;  you  do  not  feel  that  one  was  harder  for 
him  than  the  other.  Tintoret's  creations  have  this 
further  resemblance  to  Shakespeare's :  they  live  ! 
You  do  not  exclaim,  "  This  is  a  great  picture !  " 
but,  "  This  is  a  great  scene !  "  He  is  like  a 
traveler  who  brings  back  views  from  a  strange 
country :  albeit  you  have  never  been  there,  yet  the 
views  are  so  real,  the  figures  are  painted  so  freely 
and  lifelike,  and  not  in  conscious  or  conventional 
attitudes,  that  you  cannot  doubt  their  faithfulness, 
and  are  absorbed  by  the  wonders  and  beauties 
they  present. 

Tintoret  never  conspires  to  startle  you  by  sensa- 
tional devices.     Even  in  those  works  where  he  is 


TIXTORET  221 

most  daring  he  is  really  painting  what  his  imagi- 
nation saw  naturally,  and  is  no  more  bent  on  in- 
venting oddities  and  marvels  than  was  John  in 
the  Apocalj/pse.  Before  beginning  a  Biblical  or 
an  historical  subject,  he  seems  to  have  asked  him- 
self, "  How  did  this  look  to  a  bystander  ?  "  and  he 
relies  upon  the  actuality  of  the  scene  to  produce 
the  desired  impression.  He  has  been  charged, 
sometimes,  with  making  Christ  and  his  disciples 
too  vulgar.  Other  painters  have  so  accustomed 
you  to  look  for  a  kingly  personage  in  Christ,  and 
for  princely  garments  on  his  followers,  that  when 
you  first  see  a  "  Last  Supper "  by  Tintoret  you 
miss  the  habitual  elegance ;  for  he  shows  you  sim- 
ple and  earnest  but  not  ignoble  fishermen  and  ar- 
tisans of  Judea.  If  you  contemplate  them  wisely, 
your  astonishment  will  deepen  as  you  reflect  that 
it  was  through  and  by  such  lowly  and  zealous  men 
as  these,  and  not  by  philosophers  and  prelates  and 
princes,  that  the  gospel  of  bi"otherly  love  was  dis- 
seminated among  mankind.  It  is  legitimate  for 
an  artist  to  invest  an  historic  character  with  em- 
blems which  bespeak  the  significance  posterity  has 
attached  to  him  ;  but  it  is  wholesome  to  see  him 
as  he  probably  appeared  to  his  contemporaries, 
before  subse(pient  generations  have  discovered  a 
retroactive  importance  in  his  career.  Tintoret  em- 
ployed now  one  method  and  now  the  other,  and 


222  PORTRAITS 

whosoever  has  been  moved  by  the  "  Christ  before 
Pilate  "  and  "  The  Crucifixion  "  of  the  School  of 
San  Rocco  needs  not  to  be  told  that  pathos  and 
sublimity  belong  only  to  the  former  method. 

Tintoret's  versatility  would  have  made  a  lesser 
man  renowned.  He  counted  it  but  an  amusement, 
when  the  learned  critics  chided  him  for  not  obey- 
ing academic  rules,  to  imitate  the  style  of  Titian, 
or  Paul  Veronese,  or  Schiavone,  so  that  the  critics 
themselves  were  deceived  and  confounded.  He  in- 
variably adapted  his  treatment  to  the  requirements 
of  each  work :  if  it  was  to  be  viewed  from  a  consid- 
erable distance,  he  painted  broadly ;  if  it  was  to 
be  seen  near,  no  one  surpassed  him  in  the  delicacy 
and  carefulness  of  his  finish.  This  sense  of  fit- 
ness governed  his  composition  as  well  as  his  draw- 
ing. In  a  picture  intended  for  a  refectory,  for 
instance,  he  introduced  proportions  in  harmony 
with  the  dimensions  of  that  refectory,  causing  it 
to  appear  more  spacious  and  imposing.  Where 
Tintoret's  figures  are  not  correctly  drawn,  the 
apparent  fault  was  often  intentional :  restore  the 
picture  to  the  position  for  which  he  designed  it, 
and  the  drawing  will  no  longer  offend ;  for  he 
always  took  into  account  the  distance  and  angle 
from  which  the  spectator  would  look,  and  he  is  not 
responsible  for  the  changes  in  location.  In  study- 
ing any  picture,  remember  that  there  is  one,  and 


TINTORET  223 

only  one,  point  of  view  where  it  can  be  seen  as 
the  artist  wished  it  to  be  seen.  If  you  stand  too 
far  or  too  near,  you  will  miss  his  purpose.  In  a 
portrait  by  Titian  or  Tintoret,  no  line,  no  dot  of 
color  is  superfluous  :  you  must  adjust  your  vision 
until  the  tiniest  flake  of  white  on  the  tip  of  the 
chin  or  on  the  pupils  of  the  eyes  shows  you  its 
reason  for  being  there.  Try  to  imagine  that  last 
perfecting  touch  away,  and  you  will  learn  its  value. 
For  these  men  did  nothing  haphazard  :  they  would 
as  soon  have  wasted  diamonds  and  rubies  as  their 
precious  colors ;  every  hair  of  their  pencil  was  a 
nerve  through  which  their  imagination  transmitted 
itself  to  the  canvas. 

Although  it  be  well-nigh  impossible  to  describe 
a  painting  so  that  one  who  has  not  seen  it  can 
derive  profit  from  the  description,  I  shall  attempt 
to  point  out  a  few  of  the  characteristics  of  some  of 
Tintoret's  other  works,  in  the  hope  of  refreshing 
the  memory  of  readers  who  are  already  familiar 
with  them,  and  of  stimulating  the  interest  of  those 
who  may  see  them  hereafter.  It  is  the  thought 
Tintoret  has  expressed,  and  not  the  technique  of 
his  manner,  to  which  I  would  call  attention,  be- 
lieving that  this  can  be  in  some  measure  made 
real  even  to  those  who  cannot  refer  to  the  paint- 
ings themselves. 

One  fact  impresses  us  immediately,  —  Tintoret's 


224  PORTRAITS 

originality.  Previous  painters  had  used  all  the 
familiar  Christian  themes  so  often,  that  there  had 
grown  up  a  conventional  form  of  representing  each ; 
but,  although  Tintoret  used  these  themes,  his 
treatment  of  them  rarely  recalls  that  of  any  other 
painters,  and  always  demands  fresh  study.  Giotto 
may  be  said  to  have  fixed  the  norm  which  his  suc- 
cessors generally  followed,  diverging  from  it  only  in 
details.  Tintoi'et  established  a  new  norm.  More- 
over, he  never  copied  himself ;  his  inexhaustible 
imagination  refused  to  repeat.  It  represented  the 
same  subject  under  different  aspects,  never  twice 
alike.  We  have  many  replicas  of  Raphael's  and 
Titian's  works,  but  none,  so  far  as  I  know,  of 
Tintoret's.  In  rare  cases  where  two  copies  of  a 
painting  by  him  exist,  one  is  the  sketch. 

In  one  famous  instance  he  is  brought  into  direct 
comparison  with  his  rival,  Titian.  They  both 
painted  "  The  Presentation  of  the  Virgin,"  in 
somewhat  similar  manner.  Titian  conceives  the 
scene  as  follows:  In  front  of  a  stately  pile  of 
buildings,  two  flights  of  steps  lead  up  to  the  thresh- 
old of  the  Temple,  where  stands  a  venei-able  high 
priest ;  near  him  are  two  other  ecclesiastics  and 
a  youth.  Spectators  look  out  from  the  windows 
and  balconies  of  the  adjoining  edifice  upon  Mary, 
a  pretty  little  maiden,  who  has  reached  the  first  step 
of  the  second  staircase,  and,  looking  up  at  the  high 


TINTORET  225 

priest,  prepares  to  finish  the  ascent.  Immediately- 
back  of  her  figure  is  an  ornate  Corinthian  column. 
Her  mother  and  a  friend  wait  at  the  foot  of  the 
staircase,  and  a  goodly  company  of  Venetian  no- 
bles is  gathered  near  them,  —  like  pleasure-seekers 
taking  a  stroll,  who  stop  for  a  moment  to  witness 
a  chance  episode.  An  old  woman  with  a  basket 
of  egrers  sits  in  the  forcOTOund.  A  colonnade  and 
pyramid  close  in  the  picture  on  the  left,^  and  a 
pleasing  view  of  mountains  stretches  out  behind. 

This  is  Tintoret's  conception  :  A  high  priest,  pa- 
triarchal in  dignity,  stands  at  the  top  of  a  flight  of 
steps  leading  to  the  door  of  the  Temple.  Just  below 
him  Mary  is  mounting,  her  slight  form  and  dress 
being  beautifully  contrasted  with  the  sky  beyond. 
Behind  her  is  a  young  woman  (probably  her  mo- 
ther, Anne)  carrying  a  young  child.  At  the  foot 
of  the  steps,  in  the  centre  of  the  painting,  another 
mother  (one  of  Tintoret's  matchless  creations) 
is  pointing  toward  Mary,  and  telling  her  little 
daughter  that  she,  too,  will  erelong  be  presented  at 
the  Temple.  Two  girls  recline  on  the  steps  near 
by.  On  the  left,  seven  or  eight  old  men  and  idlers 
(such  as  one  still  sees  at  the  approach  to  churches 
in  Italy,  and  to  mosques  and  synagogues  in  the 
Orient)   are    ranged   along    the   stairs,   indolently 

'  I  use  left  and  right  to  denote  the  positions  as  the  spectator 
faces  the  picture. 


226  PORTRAITS 

watching  the  scene.  The  shadow  of  the  building 
falls  upon  them,  and  prevents  their  figures  from 
being  too  prominent.  There  is  no  suggestion  of 
Venice  or  Venetian  nobles.  The  attention  is  not 
distracted  by  costly  apparel  or  imposing  architec- 
ture, but  is  fixed  upon  the  chief  actors,  —  upon 
the  venerableness  of  the  high  priest,  the  sim- 
plicity and  confidingness  of  the  little  maiden, 
and  the  magnificent  forms  and  naturalness  of  the 
women. 

Critics  have  disputed  whether  Titian's  picture 
or  Tintoret's  be  the  earlier.  The  presumption  is 
in  favor  of  the  former,^  but  there  is  no  reason  to 
cry  plagiarism  against  either,  because  each  master 
has  worked  out  a  similar  conception  with  charac- 
teristic independence.  The  central  idea  —  the 
youthful  Virgin  ascending  the  steps  of  the  Temple 
to  be  received  by  the  high  priest  —  may  be  seen  in 
one  of  Giotto's  frescoes.^  What  we  admire  is  the 
originality  of  treatment  in  both  pictures.  To  me, 
Tintoret's  conception  seems  the  more  nobly  appro- 
priate ;  and  I  know  not  in  which  of  Titian's  works 
to  look  for  a  counterpart  of  that  woman  in  Tinto- 
ret's foreground,  so  easy,  so  living,  so  superb. 

^  Crowe  and  Cavalcaselle  give  1539  as  the  date  of  Titian's 
"  Presentation ; "  1545-46  is  usually  assigned  as  the  date  of 
Tintoret's. 

2  At  the  Arena,  Padua. 


TINTORET  227 

•  As  an  example  of  Tintoret's  Insight  into  the 
spiritual  world,  turn  to  his  picture  of  Lucifer.^ 
From  early  Christian  times,  the  Evil  One  has 
been  represented  by  very  crude  and  vulgar  sym- 
bols. A  hideous  face,  horns,  a  tail,  and  cloven 
hoofs  have  come  to  be  his  accepted  signs.  Such  a 
monster  could  never  tempt  even  the  frailest  striver 
after  righteousness  ;  for  this  conception  illustrates 
the  loathsomeness  of  the  results  of  sin,  and  not  the 
allurements  by  which  sin  entraps  us.  It  would 
be  equally  appropriate  to  show  to  a  lover  a  crum- 
bling skeleton  as  the  effigy  of  the  woman  whom  he 
loves.  The  Devil  would  make  no  converts  if  he 
announced  himself  to  be  the  Devil,  and  dangled 
before  men's  eyes  the  despair,  the  degradation,  the 
infinite  remorse,  which  are  his  actual  merchandise, 
instead  of  the  fleeting  pleasures  and  deceitful  pro- 
mises under  which  he  masks  them.  He  is  no  bun- 
gler or  fool,  but  supremely  skilful  in  proportioning 
his  enticement  to  the  strength  of  his  victim,  and 
very  alert  in  choosing  the  moment  most  favorable 
for  attack.  Goethe,  in  his  Mephistopheles,  has  por- 
trayed the  enemy  of  good  under  one  of  his  aspects, 
emphasizing  the  cynical  and  wicked  rather  than 
the  seductive  and  plausible  qualities.  Tintoret 
has  depicted  the  latter.  His  Lucifer  is  still  an 
angel,  though  fallen.  He  has  a  commanding  and 
^  At  the  School  of  San  Rocco,  Venice. 


228  PORTRAITS 

beautiful  form,  and  a  countenance  which  at  first 
fascinates,  until,  on  searching  it  more  deeply,  you 
fancy  you  discern  a  suggestion  of  duplicity,  a  hint 
of  sensuality,  in  it.  Bright-hued  and  strong  are 
the  plumes  of  his  wings,  and  a  circlet  of  jewels 
sparkles  on  his  left  arm,  the  sole  emblem  of  the 
wearer's  wealth.  Here  is  indeed  a  being  whose 
beauty  might  seduce,  whose  guile  might  deceive, 
—  one  whose  presence  dazzles  and  attracts,  for 
it  has  majesty  and  grace  and  charm.  Here  is  a 
fit  embodiment  of  that  ambition  which  shrinks 
not  from  crime  in  order  to  possess  power  ;  or  of 
that  false  pleasure  which  decoys  men  from  duty, 
and,  still  flying  beyond  reach,  leads  its  prisoner 
deeper  and  deeper  into  the  abominations  of  the 
abyss. 

With  equal  originality  and  truth,  Tintoret  has 
illustrated  the  allegory  of  the  temptation  of  St. 
Anthony.!  This  subject  is  usually  treated  either 
absurdly  or  grotesquely;  as  when  the  saint  is 
discovered  in  a  grotto  through  which  bats,  mice, 
witches,  and  imps  flit  and  gambol.  Not  one  of 
these  ridiculous  creatures,  we  may  safely  say, 
would  frighten  or  tempt  anybody.  But  who  are 
the  enemies  that  a  man  whose  life  is  dedicated  to 
holiness,  and  who  has  taken  the  three  vows  of 
poverty,  chastity,  and  obedience,  must  resist? 
1  In  the  church  of  San  Trovaso,  Venice. 


TINTORET  229 

Tintoret's  picture  gives  the  answer.  In  it  one  of 
the  figures,  typifying  Riches,  offers  gokl  and  pre- 
cious gems.  "Why  live  a  beggar?"  she  pleads 
softly ;  "  take  these  and  have  power."  A  second 
figure,  Voluptuousness,  is  that  of  a  woman  fair 
in  body.  "  Come  with  me,"  she  urges ;  "  let  us 
taste  of  joy  together  while  there  is  still  time."  A 
third,  who  (I  think)  represents  Unbelief  or  Her- 
esy, has  already  dashed  the  saint's  missal  and 
rosary  to  the  ground,  has  snatched  up  his  scourge, 
and,  endeavoring  to  drag  him  away,  has  plucked 
off  his  mantle.  "  Come  with  me,"  this  tempter 
seems  to  say ;  "  there  will  be  no  more  scourging, 
and  fasting,  and  mortification ;  with  me  your  life 
shall  be  without  care  and  unrestrained."  Never- 
theless, Anthony,  thus  hard  beset,  looks  heaven- 
ward, uttering  a  prayer  for  succor.  Are  not  these 
apt  personifications  of  those  lower  impulses  to 
which  even  men  of  high  resolve  have  succumbed  ? 
All  the  witches  of  the  Brocken  and  all  the  bats 
in  a  Pharaoh's  tomb  have  nothing  allurinjj  about 
them. 

There  are  few  of  Tintoret's  paintings  which  will 
not  make  similar  revelations,  if  you  look  atten- 
tively. Often  what  appears  to  be  only  a  casual 
accessory  is  the  key  to  the  whole  composition. 
Let  me  cite  two  instances  of  his  imaginative  use 
of   color.      The  first  occurs  in  "  The  Martyrdom 


230  PORTRAITS 

of  St.  Stephen."  ^     The   saint  has  fallen   on   his 
knees  beneath  the  stoning  of  his  persecutors,  but 
there  is  no  melodramatic  spurting  of  blood  or  sign 
of    physical    pain.      His    face  betokens  fortitude, 
resignation,  and  forgiveness  of  his  tormentors.    He 
gazes  up  steadfastly  into  heaven,  and  sees  the  glory 
of    God,  and  Jesus   standing  on   the  right  hand 
of  God.      The  Almighty  is  clothed  in  a  robe  of 
red  and  a  black  mantle.     In  the  background  on 
earth,  behind  the  martyr,  a  crowd  watch  the  per- 
secution ;    they  are   too   far  away  for  us  to  dis- 
tinguish  faces,  but  one  of   them,  who   is    seated, 
is  clothed  in  black  and  red.     It  is  Paul,  soon  to 
acknowledge  Christ  and  put  on  the  livery  of  God. 
Again,  in  the  "  Paradise,"  Tintoret  gives  profound 
significance  to  color  as  a  symbol :  Moses,  the  wit- 
ness to  the  Old  Covenant,  and  Christ,  the  witness 
to  the  New  Covenant,  have  robes  of  similar  colors. 
The   Doges'   Palace  contains  a  score  of  Tinto- 
ret's  imaginative  paintings  and  many  of  his  por- 
traits, and  there  are  few  churches  in  Venice  which 
have  not  at  least  one   altar-piece  by  him.      His 
best  portraits,  as  I  think,  outrank  even  Titian's 
best :  they  have  a  vital  quality,  an  inevitahleness, 
which  can  be  felt,  but  not  described.    What  a  con- 
course of  doges,  senators,  procurators,  nobles,  and 

1  In  the  church  of  San  Giorgio  Maggiore,  Venice.    Mr.  Ruskin 
Mas  the  first  to  point  out  this  stroke  of  genius. 


TINTORET  231 

soldiers  he  has  portrayed !  Their  grave,  refined 
faces,  their  stately  carriage,  the  sobriety  as  often 
as  the  sumptuousness  of  their  dress,  bear  witness 
to  the  glory  and  power  of  Venice  ;  that  glory  and 
power  which  had  begun  to  decline  in  the  sixteenth 
century,  though  the  Venetians  perceived  it  not. 
They  misread  the  signs.  They  could  not  believe 
that  Venice,  which  had  continually  grown  in  wealth 
during  ten  centuries,  could  decline  or  perish.  Esto 
perpetua  !  —  may  she  live  forever !  —  was  the  last 
prayer  of  her  historian,  Sarpi,  the  abiding  dream 
of  all  her  citizens. 

It  was  Tintoret's  pride  to  immortalize  on  canvas 
her  legends  and  her  history,  and  to  illustrate  her 
grandeur  by  means  of  allegory.  He  painted  the 
popular  stories  of  the  recovery  of  St.  Mark's  body 
from  Alexandria,  and  of  the  miracles  performed 
by  that  holy  patron.  He  painted  the  siege  of 
Zara,  the  battle  of  Lepanto,  and  the  ambassadors 
of  Venice  holding  head  before  the  haughtiness 
of  Frederick  Babarossa.  He  painted  Venice  en- 
throned among  the  gods,  and  Venice  as  mistress 
of  the  sea. 

But  his  genius  was  not  confined  to  the  expres- 
sion of  pomp  and  patriotism.  It  delighted  not 
only  in  majestic  flights  of  imagination,  but  also 
in  contemplating  and  in  setting  forth  pure  beauty. 
In  one  of  the  smaller  rooms  of  the  Ducal  Palace 


232  PORTRAITS 

are  two  classic  subjects  by  him,  —  "  Mercury  and 
the  Graces,"  "  Ariadne  and  Bacchus,"  —  which, 
whether  we  regard  their  perfect  symmetry,  or  the 
grace  of  their  forms,  or  the  delicious  poetic  spirit 
that  emanates  from  them  like  fragrance  from  a 
bed  of  lilies,  have  few  rivals  in  loveliness.  They 
arouse  in  some  beholders  a  mood  akin  to  that 
which  a  joyous  theme  in  one  of  Beethoven's  sym- 
phonies can  arouse,  —  a  mood  sweeter  than  hope 
itself,  or  the  brightest  afterglow  of  memory  ;  for, 
while  it  lasts,  the  present,  flooded  with  peace  and 
beauty  and  a  nameless  ecstacy,  satisfies  the  soul. 

The  School  of  San  Rocco  possesses  sixty-four 
pictures  by  Tintoret.  This  series,  illustrating  the 
principal  events  in  the  Old  and  New  Testaments, 
is  quite  without  parallel,  not  only  in  extent,  but  in 
the  excellence  of  a  large  number  of  the  separate 
paintings.  You  pass  from  one  to  another  as  from 
scene  to  scene  in  Shakespeare ;  and  it  is  only  when 
you  return  to  the  works  of  lesser  men  that  you 
realize  the  richness  and  strength  of  the  master, 
who  has  lifted  you  to  his  level  so  easily  that  you 
were  conscious  of  no  effort.  The  halls  in  which 
these  paintings  are  kept  are  utterly  inadequate  for 
their  proper  examination :  not  one  can  be  seen 
in  a  favorable  light ;  many  are  almost  buried  in 
gloom,  or  hidden  in  the  equally  impenetrable  glare 
that  falls  on  their  surface  from  the  cross-lights  of 


TINTORET  233 

conflicting  windows.  Some  of  the  canvases  liave 
been  injured  by  water ;  the  colors  have  grown  dim 
or  dingy  with  age ;  and  in  some  cases  "  restor- 
ers "  ^  have  blurred  the  outlines  and  brought  dis- 
cord among  the  tones.  Nevertheless,  who  that  has 
once  seen  can  ever  forget  many  of  those  paint- 
ings ?  The  original  conception  looms  up  beautiful 
and  grand  from  amid  the  wreck  of  time  and  neg- 
lect, like  a  mutilated,  earth-stained  Greek  statue, 
and  your  imagination  exerts  itself  to  see  the  work 
as  it  must  have  appeared  when  the  colors  were 
fresh.  Who  can  forget  that  flock  of  angels  in 
"  The  Annunciation  ;  "  or  "  The  Visit  of  the 
Magi ;  "  or  "  The  Flight  into  Egypt ; "  or  the 
terrible  "Slaughter  of  the  Innocents,"  which  seems 
to  have  been  painted  in  blood,  though  there  is 
hardly  any  blood  to  be  seen  ;  or  "  The  Adoration 
of  the  Shepherds  ; "  or  "  Christ's  Agony  in  Geth- 
semane  ;  "  or  "  Christ  before  Pilate  ; "  or  "  Christ 
being  led  to  Calvary  "  ? 

The  series  concludes  with  "  The  Crucifixion,"  a 
masterpiece  before  which  artists  and  amateurs,  and 
even  academic  critics,  have  stood  in  mute  wonder. 
It  is  a  panoramic  summary  of  the  last  acts  in  the 

1  One  painting  bears  the  inscription,  REST.  ANTONIVS  FLO- 
RIAN,  18.'54.  "  Exactly  in  proportion  to  a  man's  idiocy,"  Mr. 
Ruskin  remarks,  "  is  always  tlie  size  of  the  letters  in  which  he 
writes  his  name  on  the  picture  that  he  spoils." 


234  PORTRAITS 

persecution  of  Christ.  No  detail  which  the  Evan- 
gelists furnish  has  been  omitted,  but  all  details 
have  been  subordinated  to  a  unity  so  vast  and  im- 
pressive that  it  eludes  analysis.  Primarily,  this  is 
a  pictorial  representation  of  an  historical  event ; 
but  for  the  Christian  believer  it  is  an  image  of  the 
profoundest  religious  meaning.  There  are  many 
groups,  but  if  you  study  each  group  you  will  dis- 
cover that  without  it  something  would  have  been 
wanting  to  the  whole.  Here  are  Romans,  to  whom 
the  spectacle  has  no  moral  interest ;  they  are  sol- 
diers and  judges,  executing  unperturbed  the  Ro- 
man law  upon  the  person  of  a  Jew  who  has  stirred 
up  the  wrath  of  his  fellows  and  caused  a  popular 
tumult.  Here  are  Jews,  mocking  and  full  of  hate. 
Here,  too,  is  the  little  remnant  of  Jews  who,  be- 
lieving in  the  victim  as  their  master,  are  faithful 
to  him  unto  death.  Is  not  the  indifference  or  the 
idle  curiosity  of  some  of  the  spectators  as  signifi- 
cant as  the  cruelty  of  his  enemies  and  the  devo- 
tion and  anguish  of  his  friends  ?  For  consider 
well  what  it  implies  that  any  human  being  should 
gaze  unmoved,  or  moved  only  as  by  an  every-day 
occurrence,  at  a  fellow  creature  suffering  the  pen- 
alty of  death.  Is  life,  then,  so  cheap  ?  Is  a  human 
soul  of  so  slight  account  that  men  can  cast  lots  or 
jeer  while  it  passes  in  agony  from  earth  forever  ? 
Who  can  estimate  the  cruelty  which  delights  in  the 


TINTORET  235 

torments  of  that  struggle  ?  And  if  this  sacrifice 
be  viewed  with  the  eyes  of  a  Christian,  and  not  of 
an  impassive  observer,  if  the  victim  be  esteemed 
not  merely  a  man,  but  the  Son  of  God,  what  words 
shall  describe  its  solemnity  ? 

Tintoret  has  painted  all  this  into  his  picture,  in 
which  the  central  object  is  the  cross  with  Christ 
upon  it.  His  head  has  sunk  upon  his  bosom,  and 
we  imagine  that  with  his  downcast  eyes  he  beholds 
the  group  of  holy  women  at  the  foot  of  the  cross, 
and  says  to  Mary,  "  Woman,  behold  thy  son." 
That  group  is  the  most  pathetic  that  painter  ever 
drew.  Some  of  the  women,  overwhelmed  by  grief, 
have  fainted.  Not  by  their  faces,  but  by  their 
drooping,  motionless  bodies,  can  you  infer  the  un- 
speakable burden  which  is  crushing  them.  One 
kneels  ;  another  —  Magdalen,  it  may  be  —  has 
risen,  and  looks  up  at  the  expiring  Saviour.  A 
venerable  disciple  gazes  tenderly  at  the  face  of  the 
Virgin,  who  has  swooned.  A  younger  disciple 
lifts  his  eyes  toward  Christ.  They  cannot  help ; 
they  cannot  speak ;  they  can  only  wait  and  sorrow. 
Who  shall  utter  the  agony  that  love  feels  when  it 
is  powerless  to  relieve  the  suffering  of  its  beloved  I 
Behind  this  group  stands  a  man  holding  a  bowl, 
into  which  another  man,  who  has  climbed  a  ladder 
resting  against  the  back  of  the  cross,  dips  a  s])onge 
stuck  on  a  spear.    At  the  left,  other  executioners 


236  PORTRAITS 

are  raising  the  cross  on  which  one  of  the  male- 
factors has  been  bound.  Some  men  in  front  are 
tugging  at  ropes ;  others  behind  are  pushing  or 
steadying  it.  Hammers,  adzes,  a  saw,  and  other 
tools  bestrew  the  gi'ound.  Farther  on  are  many 
spectators,  —  a  Roman  officer  in  armor,  elders, 
dignitaries,  and  a  soldier  bearing  the  Roman  stand- 
ard. Some  point  toward  Christ,  and  evidently 
say  to  one  another :  "  That  is  the  impostor  who 
calls  himself  the  Son  of  God  and  the  King  of  the 
Jews.  Where  is  his  pretended  might  ?  "  A  little 
in  the  background,  a  mounted  spearman  has  thrown 
the  reins  on  the  neck  of  his  ass,  which  compla- 
cently feeds  on  withered  palm  leaves,  —  an  imagi- 
native touch  characteristic  of  Tintoret,  which  will 
not  be  lost  on  those  who  recall  Christ's  entry  into 
Jerusalem  a  few  days  before. 

In  the  foreground,  to  the  right,  a  man  Is  dig-, 
ging  a  hole  for  the  cross  of  the  second  malefactor, 
while  soldiers  are  drawing  lots  for  Christ's  gar- 
ments, and  other  mounted  soldiers  are  watching 
the  proceedings  near  by.  A  little  beyond,  another 
oTOup  is  busy  attaching  that  malefactor  to  his 
cross  ;  one  boring  a  hole  for  the  spike  to  pierce 
his  hand,  another  holding  down  his  legs  so  that 
they  can  be  bound,  while  a  third  has  a  rope.  In 
the  distance,  men  hurry  toward  the  scene,  lest  they 
be  too  late  to  enjoy  it ;  and  the  foremost  camels  of 


TINTORET  237 

a  caravan  on  its  way  into  the  city  appear  just  at 
a  turn  in  the  road.  For  traffic  and  the  daily  toil 
of  men  are  not  interrupted  by  the  crucifixion  of 
Christ,  though  soldiers  and  idlers  have  come  out 
to  witness  it.  On  the  left  there  is  a  palace,  and 
then  hills  succeeded  by  craggy  mountains.  The 
clouds  have  deepened  almost  into  darkness  along 
the  horizon.  The  sun,  as  it  sinks  into  this  gloom, 
appears  as  a  huge  disk  of  ghastly  light,  and  this 
disk  forms  a  dim  halo  behind  Christ's  head.  Yet 
a  little  while  and  the  earth  shall  be  wholly  dark- 
ened, and  these  curious,  careless  spectators  shall 
flee  away  in  terror.^ 

Such,  told  briefly  and  inadequately,  —  for  lan- 
guage can  only  hint  at  the  effects  of  painting,  — 
is  this  solemn  event  as  conceived  by  Tintoret's 
imagination.^ 

We  have  no  evidence  that  Tintoret  visited 
Kome,  nor  any  record  of  his  journeys,  except  that 
to  Mantua,  yet  we  may  be  sure  that  he  was  famil- 
iar with  the  scenery  of  the  mainland.  The  woods 
and  foliage,   the   streams,   valleys,   and  meadows, 

^  In  a  great  picture,  now  niinod,  at  the  abandoned  Bavarian 
palace  of  Schleissheira,  near  Munich,  Tintoret  lias  represented 
the  Crncifixion  in  its  later  aspnct. 

2  This  is  one  of  the  four  or  five  painting's  which  Tintoret 
signed.  It  was  finished  in  15<)5.  His  receipt  for  its  payment 
Btill  exists.  It  is  dated  March  9,  150G.  The  sum  received  was 
two  hundred  and  fifty  ducats. 


238  PORTRAITS 

the  little  hills  and  picturesque  mountains,  which 
abound  in  his  paintings,  he  did  not  see  at  Venice. 
Our  lack  of  information  leaves  us  in  doubt,  there- 
fore, whether  he  studied  Michael  Angelo's  "  Last 
Judgment"  in  the  Sixtine  Chapel.  If  he  never 
went  to  Rome,  he  probably  was  acquainted,  from 
engravings  or  copies,  with  the  composition  of  that 
extraordinary  work  ;  yet  his  own  painting  of  that 
subject  bears  so  little  resemblance  to  Michael  An- 
gelo's that  it  seems  to  have  been  produced  inde- 
pendently. 

The  masterpiece  of  the  Sixtine  Chapel  is  so  com- 
plicated that  it  bewilders  the  student,  imtil  he 
observes  that  the  principal  groups  are  roughly 
arranged  in  an  immense  irregular  horseshoe,  the 
points  of  which  are  near  the  bottom  of  the  lower 
wall,  while  Christ,  the  chief  figure,  is  inclosed  in 
the  upper  oval.  Four  fifths  of  the  action  takes 
place  in  the  air,  the  lower  portion  alone  of  the 
fresco  being  occupied  by  the  river  Styx  and  its 
adjacent  bank.  In  its  present  nearly  ruined  con- 
dition we  cannot  guess  the  original  effect  of  this 
work ;  but  I  doubt  whether  it  could  ever  have 
satisfied  the  beholder's  instinctive  demand  for  har- 
mony. The  groups,  even  the  individuals,  seem 
isolated,  not  only  in  space  but  in  spirit.  There 
is  not,  nor  could  there  be,  a  single  prevailing  pas- 
sion.    The  only  characteristic  which  applies  to  the 


TINTORET  239 

whole  work  is  tremendous  energy.  Whatever  of 
agony,  of  fury,  of  stubbornness,  of  determination, 
can  be  expressed  by  the  human  body,  is  expressed 
here.  There  is  no  muscle  or  tendon  which  is  not 
exhibited  in  various  positions  ;  no  posture  of  limbs 
or  trunk  which  is  not  represented.  The  resurrec- 
tion of  the  hody  is  illustrated  in  a  hundred  ways, 
and  the  expression  of  the  faces  is  of  secondary 
importance.  Here,  patriarchs  have  the  vigor  of 
Titans  ;  saints  are  as  robust  as  athletes  ;  Christ 
himself  might  be  a  majestically  stern  Apollo.  Not 
without  reason  may  we  call  these  effigies  of  rest- 
less, writhing  human  beings  wonderful  diagrams 
of  anatomy  and  concrete  illustrations  of  dynamics. 
Even  the  saved,  who  occupy  the  higher  regions, 
are  not  tranquil.  In  striving  to  comprehend  these 
whirlwinds  of  action,  the  mind  is  wearied  and 
baffled.  Unit  by  unit  you  examine  this  multitude, 
and  you  are  amazed  in  turn  by  sublimity,  or  hor- 
ror, or  power. 

The  space  ^  to  which  Tintoret  had  to  adapt  his 
picture  of  "  The  Last  Judgment  "  is  oblong,  about 
fifty  feet  high  and  twenty  feet  broad.  In  the 
upper  part  of  the  heavens  Christ  is  represented, 
not  in  the  character  of  the  inexorable  Judge,  but 
in  that  of  the  Shepherd  who  welcomes  his  faithful 
flock  to  Paradise  ;  for  the  resurrection  and  judg- 
^  In  the  church  of  Santa  Maria  dell'  Orto,  Venice. 


240  PORTRAITS 

raent  are  coincid*it.  On  one  side,  near  Christ, 
John  the  Baptist  is  kneeling,  and  Mary  and  the 
repentant  sinner,  who  bears  a  cross,  are  near ;  on 
the  other  side  are  personifications  of  the  cardinal 
virtues.  Extremely  lovely  is  Charity,  carrying  in 
her  arms  two  young  children  to  present  to  the 
Saviour.  Zones  of  fleecy  clouds  separate  the  up- 
per part  of  the  painting  into  sections,  in  which  the 
saints  are  ranked  ;  but  the  distribution  seems  natu- 
ral, not  arbitrary,  and  serves  to  prevent  confusion 
among  so  many  figures.  Midway  in  the  scene, 
angels  plunge  eartliward  to  rouse  the  dead.  Mi- 
chael, with  his  terrible  sword  unsheathed,  pursues 
the  wicked  toward  a  mighty  river,  which  sweeps 
irresistibly  into  the  abyss.  In  the  distance,  on  a 
low  shelf  of  sand  amid  the  waters,  is  huddled  a 
crowd  of  sinners,  too  indolent  or  too  terrified  to 
struggle  against  the  flood  which  must  soon  engulf 
them.  Crouching,  they  await  their  doom.  In 
them  Tintoret  lias  perhaps  typified  those  miserable 
creatures  whom  Dante  describes  as  "  a  Dio  spia- 
centi  ed  cC  nemici  swi,"  —  hateful  to  God  and  to 
his  enemies.  Demons  convoy  a  bark-load  of  the 
damned  through  the  hellish  torrent.  And  on  the 
shore  what  a  spectacle !  Bodies  starting  from  their 
graves,  some  not  yet  clothed  with  flesh,  some  with 
leafy  branches  growing  from  their  arms,  some 
striving  to  free   themselves  from  the  earth   into 


TINTORET  241 

which  corruption  resolved  them  ;  everywhere  signs 
of  the  suddenness  and  awfuhiess  of  that  supreme 
moment  when  the  dead  shall  rise  again  in  the 
forms  they  bore  when  alive,  and  go  to  the  eternal 
abode,  of  bliss  or  punishment,  for  which  each  has 
fitted  himself  by  his  career  on  earth. 

A  parallel  has  frequently  been  drawn  between 
the  genius  of  Michael  Angelo  and  that  of  Dante, 
and  many  have  deplored  the  loss  of  that  portfolio 
in  which  Michael  Angelo  is  known  to  have  made 
a  series  of  illustrations  to  The  Divine  Comedy. 
The  resemblance  between  the  supreme  Tuscan  poet 
and  the  supreme  Tuscan  artist  seems  to  me,  how- 
ever, to  hold  only  when  we  limit  our  view  to  Dante 
as  the  author  of  the  Inferno.  In  energy,  in 
intense  perception  of  evil,  in  unswerving  condem- 
nation of  sin,  in  austerity,  in  appreciation  of  the 
terror  of  life,  the  poet  and  the  painter  were  indeed 
akin.  These  are  the  characteristics  which  most 
readers  associate  with  Dante's  genius,  for  the  rea- 
son that  most  readers  go  no  farther  than  the 
Inferno,  or  are  unable  to  comprehend  the  more 
spiritual  sublimity  of  the  Purgatorio  and  the 
Paradise.  The  Inferno  describes  torments  which 
the  most  sluggish  person  can  understand,  and  the 
contrasts  of  lurid  flames  and  impenetrable  gloom 
by  which  the  scenes  in  hell  are  diversified  are  so 
vivid  as  to  require  no  commentary.     We  marvel 


242  PORTRAITS 

at  the  imagination  that  could  travei'se  unpara- 
lyzed  these  horrors  and  dare  to  report  them.  But 
Dante's  genius  stopped  not  here :  it  passed  in 
review  all  human  nature,  from  its  lowest  sinful  con- 
dition to  that  highest  excellence  when  it  merges 
with  God.  Though  Evil  be  a  terrible  reality, 
Dante  saw  that  Love  is  even  more  real,  the  source 
and  the  goal  of  all  things,  and  he  proved  his  uni- 
versality by  his  power  to  describe  it.  And  they 
whose  imagination  is  strong  enough  to  follow  him 
through  the  regions  of  the  blessed  incline  to  rank 
the  third  canticle  of  his  "  sacred  poem "  even 
higher  than  the  first. 

Among  painters,  Tintoret  only  has,  like  Dante, 
swept  through  the  full  circuit  of  human  experi- 
ence and  aspiration.  He  has  shown  us  the  anguish 
of  the  damned  in  his  "  Last  Judgment,"  and  the 
peace  and  bliss  of  the  blessed  in  his  "  Paradise." 
That  "The  Last  Judgment"  should  be  Michael 
Angelo's  masterpiece,  and  that  he  should  have 
painted  it  on  the  altar  wall  of  the  Pope's  favorite 
chapel,  are  fatally  appropriate.  In  that  terrific 
scene,  the  judge  is  not  Christ,  but  Michael  Angelo 
himself  ;  a  righteous  man,  who  looked  out  upon 
the  iniquities  of  his  time  and  dared  to  condemn 
them  ;  a  religious  man,  who,  coming  to  Rome,  the 
religious  centre  of  Christendom,  discovered  there 
a  second  Sodom,  in  which  pope,  cardinals,  and 


TINTORET  243 

bishops  were  the  most  shameless  offenders ;  a  pa- 
triotic man,  who  had  fought  for  the  liberty  of 
his  beloved  Florence,  and  had  beheld  her,  through 
the  treachery  of  some  and  the  apathy  of  others, 
become  the  slave  of  a  corrupt  master.  No  wonder 
that  the  terror  and  anguish,  the  depravity  and 
hopelessness,  of  life  should  have  eaten  into  Mi- 
chael Angelo's  soul.  As  he  worked  solitarily  in 
the  Sixtine  Chapel,  no  wonder  that  a  vision  of  the 
retribution  which  shall  overtake  the  wicked  should 
have  possessed  his  imagination,  and  transformed 
the  artist  into  the  judge.  Day  by  day,  a  spirit 
mightier  than  theirs  painted  the  protest  which 
Savonarola,  Zwingli,  Luther,  and  Calvin  had 
preached,  —  the  spirit  of  a  Job  united  to  that  of 
an  Isaiah. 

Not  less  appropriate  was  it  that  the  genius  of 
Tintoret  and  of  Venetian  art  should  culminate  in 
the  representation  of  Paradise.  Of  all  common- 
wealths, Venice  had  enjoyed  the  longest  prosper- 
ity ;  of  aU  peoples,  hers  had  been  the  most  sensi- 
tive to  the  joy  of  life.  Even  at  the  end  of  the 
sixteenth  century,  when  her  power  abroad  had 
been  curtailed,  and  when  luxury  at  home  was 
slowly  enervating  the  integrity  of  her  citizens,  she 
was  still  outwardly  imposing,  magnificent.  No 
pope  had  ever  succeeded,  either  by  guile  or  by 
force,  in  ravishing  her  independence.     Her  imme- 


244  PORTRAITS 

morial  glory  blazed  across  the  past  and  irradiated 
the  present,  as  the  setting  sun  spreads  an  avenue 
of  splendor  upon  the  ocean  and  fills  the  heavens 
with  golden  and  purple  light.  Venice  was  indeed 
the  abode  of  Joy ;  and  Tintoret,  at  the  close  of 
a  long  career,  in  which  he  had  witnessed  all  the 
aspects  and  pondered  all  the  possibilities  of  human 
life,  was  filled,  like  Dante,  with  hope,  and  felt  Joy 
and  Love  to  be  the  supreme  realities,  the  everlast- 
ing fulfilments,  of  mankind's  desires. 

If  the  Last  Judgment  is  an  "  unimaginable " 
theme,  as  Mr.  Ruskin  remarks,  how  much  more 
so  is  Paradise  !  Men  have  always  found  it  easier 
to  represent  grief  than  happiness,  villainy  than 
virtue,  shadows  than  sunshine ;  for  the  former 
are  by  their  nature  limited,  and  draw  their  own 
outlines,  while  the  latter  have  a  quality  of  bound- 
lessness which  to  define  abridges  it.  Moreover, 
pleasure  is  oftenest  unconscious,  and  always  indi- 
vidual ;  pain,  on  the  contrary,  is  too  conscious  of 
self,  and  is  manifest  in  attributes  common  to  many. 
Nevertheless,  Tintoret  has  achieved  the  seeming 
impossibility  of  representing,  so  far  as  painting 
may,  the  happiness,  unmixed  and  eternal,  of  the 
celestial  host. 

His  painting  is  known  to  most  visitors  at  Venice 
as  being  the  largest  in  the  world.  The  ordinary 
traveler,  after  reading  the  dimensions  in  his  guide- 


TINTORET  245 

book,  looks  up  at  tlie  canvas,  and  sees  crowds  of 
figures  and  colors  grown  dark  ;  wonders  what  it 
all  means,  and  why  the  janitor  does  not  sweep 
down  the  dust  and  cobwebs ;  and  then  turns  away 
to  devote  equal  attention  to  the  black  panel  where 
Marino  Faliero's  portrait  would  be  had  he  not  died 
a  traitor's  death.  In  like  manner,  I  have  seen 
intelligent  strangers  exhaust  the  treasures  of  the 
Acropolis  of  Athens  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and 
return  to  their  hotel  to  read  the  last  English  news- 
paper.  But  let  him  who  would  commune  with  one 
of  the  few  supreme  masterpieces  of  art  sit  down 
patiently  and  reverently  before  Tintoret's  "  Para- 
dise," and  he  will  be  rewarded  by  revelations  pro- 
portioned to  his  study.  As  soon  as  his  eyes  grow 
used  to  the  dimness  of  the  hall,  the  tones  of  the 
canvas  begin  to  be  intelligible  to  him  :  it  is  as  if 
he  heard  a  symphony  played  in  a  lower  key  than 
the  composer  intended  ;  many  of  the  original  ef- 
fects are  lost,  but  harmony  interpenetrates  and 
unifies  all  the  jjarts.  When  he  has  adjusted  his 
eyes  to  this  pitch,  he  can  examine  the  figures  sepa- 
rately ;  until,  little  by  little,  in  what  seemed  a 
vast  confused  multitude,  he  will  be  aware  of  the 
presence  of  an  all-controlling  order ;  and  he  will 
gaze  at  last  understandingly,  as  in  a  vision,  upon 
the  congregations  of  heaven  as  they  are  unfolded 
in  Tintoret's  desijrn. 


246  PORTRAITS 

Christ  is  seated  in  the  central  upper  part  of  the 
painting- :  his  left  hand  rests  on  a  crystal  globe ; 
innumerable  rays  of  light  illumine  his  head  and 
dart  in  all  directions.  Opposite  to  him  is  the 
Madonna,  above  whom  sparkles  a  circlet  of  stars. 
At  Christ's  left  soars  the  archangel  Michael  bear- 
ing the  heavenly  scales  ;  at  Mary's  right  is  Ga- 
briel with  a  spray  of  lilies.  A  cloud  of  countless 
cherubs  hovers  at  the  feet  of  the  Divine  Person- 
age ;  while  on  each  side  of  the  archangels,  curving 
toward  the  upper  extremities  of  the  canvas,  sweep 
companies  of  seraphim  and  cherubim,  and  the 
thrones,  principalities,  and  powers,  and  angels  with 
swords,  sceptres,  and  globes.  These  form  the  first 
circle  of  the  angelic  host,  who  from  eternity  have 
held  their  station  nearest  to  their  Lord.  Below 
them  is  a  larger  circle,  composed  of  those  spirits 
who,  by  prophecy  or  preaching,  established  and 
extended  the  kingdom  of  God  on  earth.  On  the 
left  we  see  the  forerunners  of  Christ,  —  David  play- 
ing the  cithern,  Moses  holding  up  the  tables  of  the 
law,  Noah  with  his  ark,  Solomon,  Abraham,  and 
the  other  patriarchs  ;  and  near  these  we  distin- 
guish John  the  Baptist,  who  displays  a  scroll  on 
which  is  written  Ecce  Agnvs.  Midway  in  this 
circle  are  the  Evangelists,  the  four  corners  of  the 
Christian  temple,  and  the  intermediaries  between 
the   old   and   new  dispensations.     Here  is  Mark 


TINTORET  247 

accompanied  by  his  lion,  Luke  and  his  ox,  Mat- 
thew with  pen  in  hand,  and  John  with  his  book 
resting  on  an  eagle.  As  the  line  sweeps  on,  we 
see  the  early  fathers,  doctors,  and  great  popes,  — 
Peter  and  Gregory  ;  Paul,  the  apostle  militant, 
recognizable  by  his  sword  ;  Jerome,  Ambrose,  and 
Augustine.  In  the  centre,  between  Luke  and 
Matthew,  is  the  third  archangel,  Raphael,  whose 
clasped  hands  and  upturned  face  betoken  a  soul 
rapt  in  adoration.  The  third  and  lowest  circle 
is  made  up  of  many  groups  of  martyrs  and  holy 
men  and  women,  the  great  body  of  the  Church 
of  Christ.  Among  the  throng  on  the  left  are 
Barbara ;  Catherine  with  her  wheel ;  Francis  of 
Assisi  and  Dominick,  the  founders  of  the  great 
religious  orders  ;  Giustina  bearing  a  palm  branch ; 
St.  George  (with  banner),  Lawrence,  Sebastian, 
Agnes,  and  Stephen,  each  recognizable  by  a  famil- 
iar emblem.  In  the  centre,  along  the  bottom  of 
the  painting,  hover  clusters  of  worshiping  angels ; 
beyond  them,  more  saints,  Monica,  and  ]Magdalen  ; 
then  Rachel  and  a  troop  of  lovely  children,  and 
Christopher,  who  carried  the  boy  Christ  on  his 
shoulder  here  below,  and  now  carries  a  globe.  At 
last,  on  the  extreme  right,  we  reach  the  assembly 
of  prelates  and  theologians. 

With  this  key  to  the  general  distribution,  tlie 
student  who  has  Tintoret's  "  Paradise  "  before  him 


248  PORTRAITS 

can  recognize  scores  of  other  figures.  He  will 
compare  Tintoret's  portrayal  of  each  saint,  or  pro- 
phet, or  martyr  with  conceptions  other  painters 
have  drawn ;  and  if  he  reflect  that  any  one  of 
these  groups,  and  many  of  these  figures  singly, 
would  have  sufficed  to  establish  the  renown  of  an 
artist  less  masterly  than  Tintoret,  his  astonish- 
ment will  swell  into  admiration,  and  this  into  awe, 
when  he  surveys  the  work  as  a  whole.  Who  can 
describe  the  effect  of  the  innumerable  multitude  ? 
Cast  your  eyes  almost  anywhere  upon  the  canvas, 
and  lo !  out  of  the  deeper,  distant  spaces  angelic 
countenances  loom  up.  Forms,  though  distinctly 
outlined,  by  some  magic  seem  diaphanous ;  and 
the  farther  your  gaze  penetrates,  the  brighter  is 
the  light  which  radiates  throughout  heaven  from 
the  throne  of  Christ.  Still  more  marvelous  is  the 
sense  of  infinite  tranquillity,  even  in  those  figures 
which  are  moving.  These  are  veritable  spirits, 
though  they  have  human  bodies,  and  they  move  or 
rest  with  equal  ease.  In  this  heavenly  ether  there 
is  no  effort.  Even  those  rushing  seraphim,  whose 
majestic  pinions  seem  to  beat  melody  from  air  in 
their  rhythmic  flight,  suggest  a  certain  grand  re- 
pose begotten  of  motion  itself,  —  a  repose  akin  to 
that  produced  by  the  sight  of  the  sea,  whose  myr- 
iad little  waves  dance  and  glisten,  or  of  Niagara, 
whose  falling  flood  seems  stationary.     The  specta- 


TINTORET  249 

tor  who  has  risen  to  this  conception  will  not  fail 
to  note  the  light  of  a  joy,  not  vehement  but  pro- 
found, which  bathes  every  face  ;  and  how  the  ac- 
tion of  ever}^  individual  and  of  every  group  is  in 
some  manner  addressed  to  Christ,  and  would  be 
incomplete  but  for  that  divine  centre.  Christ  and 
the  Madonna,  and  the  dove  of  the  Holy  Spirit 
floating  between  them,  he  will  look  at  first  and 
turn  from  last,  —  the  noblest  personification  of 
ideal  manhood  and  ideal  womanhood  that  ever 
painter  expressed.  The  embodiment  and  essence 
of  Love^  which  is  the  author  of  all  good,  they  are 
enthroned  amid  the  serenity  of  the  highest  heaven. 
Round  them  wheels  the  inner  circle  of  the  archan- 
gels and  the  angels,  the  symbols  of  divine  Power. 
Then,  in  ever-widening  circles,  the  saints  and  apos- 
tles and  prophets,  and  the  elect  of  every  clime  and 
condition,  all  children  of  Faith  and  exemplars  of 
Charity^  float  and  revolve  in  bliss  forevermore. 
And  it  needs  no  strain  of  the  imagination  to  hear 
the  hosannas  which  the  morning  stars  sing  to- 
gether, and  all  the  sons  of  God  shout  for  joy.^ 

The  dark  chapel  of  the  Rucellai,  in  the  church 
of  Santa  Maria  Novella  in  Florence,  has  a  dingy 

1  In  the  execution  of  the  "  Paradise  "  he  was  assisted  by  his  son 
Dornciiico.  If  Tintoret  was  born  in  1512,  most  of  the  work  was 
done    after   his    eightieth  year,  an    indication  of  physical  viyor 


250  PORTRAITS 

altar-piece  representing  the  Virgin  and  the  infant 
Christ.  Cimabue  painted  it ;  and  when  it  was 
finished  the  Florentines  made  a  holiday,  and  bore 
the  picture  through  the  streets,  amid  great  rejoi- 
cing, to  the  chapel  where  it  now  hangs.  That  stiff 
and  awkward  Madonna,  that  doll-like  Child,  were 
hailed  by  thera  as  the  highest  achievement  of 
painting.  For  us  Cimabue's  masterpiece  has  only 
an  historic  interest,  —  we  find  no  charm  in  its 
Byzantine  rigidness.  Yet  that  crude  work  was 
the  seed  of  Italian  painting,  and  if  we  follow  its 
growth  during  three  centuries  we  shall  be  led  to 
the  "  Paradise "  of  Tintoret,  in  which  are  em- 
bodied all  the  excellences  and  advances  of  the 
painter's  art.  Between  that  humble  beginning  and 
that  glorious  culmination  an  army  of  artists  and 
myriads  of  paintings  intervene.  If  we  look  deep 
enough,  we  shall  be  conscious  that  they  were  all 
agents  whereby  a  mighty  spirit  was  seeking  to  ex- 
press itself  to  man,  —  a  spirit  which  first  appealed 
to  human  piety  through  the  symbols  of  religion, 
and  which,  as  its  agents  acquired  skill  and  reach, 
bodied  itself  forth  in  higher  images  and  in  con- 
scious forms.  The  name  of  that  spirit  is  Beauty, 
never  to  be  found  perfect  in  the  outer  world,  but 

almost  unparalleled.  A  rapid  study  for  another  "  Paradise,"  in 
■which  the  groups  are  arranged  on  a  different  plan,  reminding  one 
of  Dante's  description  of  the  Celestial  Rose,  is  now  in  the  Louvre. 


TINTORET  251 

known  as  it  communicates  through  the  senses  por- 
tents of  itself  which  the  soul  sublimes  into  that 
ideal  unity  by  which  the  laws  of  nature  and  the 
destiny  of  man  are  beheld  in  their  highest  aspect. 
True  Worship,  as  in  the  sweet  piety  of  Fra  An- 
gelico,  led  to  Beauty ;  to  Beauty  also,  along  an 
inevitable  path,  led  the  pursuit  of  Truth  by  the 
sixteenth  century  masters,  latest  among  whom  was 
Tintoret :  for  Beauty  is  the  final  seal  and  test  of 
both  Holiness  and  Truth. 


GIORDANO   BRUNO:    HIS  TRIAL,  OPIN- 
IONS,  AND   DEATH 1 


On  Saturday,  the  23d  of  May,  1592,  Giovanni 
Mocenigo,  son  of  the  late  excellent  Marcanto- 
nio  Mocenigo,  addressed  to  the  Father  Inquisitor 
of  Venice  a  letter  containing  charges  of  heresy 
against  Giordano  Bruno,  the  Nolan.  Among  other 
things,  he  alleged  that  Bruno  had  said  "  that  it  is 
a  great  blasphemy  to  say,  as  Catholics  do,  that 
bread  is  changed  to  flesh ;  that  he  is  hostile  to 
the  mass ;  that  no  religion  satisfies  him ;  that 
Christ  was  a  good-for-nothing,  and  did  wretched 
tricks  to  seduce  tlie  people,  and  ought  to  have 
been  hanged ;  that  there  is  no  separating  God  into 
persons  ;  that  the  world  is  eternal  ;  that  worlds 
are  infinite,  and  God  makes  an  infinite  number  of 
them  continually  ;  that  Christ  wrought  apparent 
miracles  and  was  a  magician,  and  so  were  the 
Apostles  ;  that  Christ  showed  that  he  died  unwill- 
ingly, and  evaded  death  as  long  as  he  could ;  that 
there  is  no  punishment   of    sins ;  and    that    souls 

1  First  printed  in  The  Atlantic  Monthly,  March,  ISOO. 


GIORDANO   BRUNO  2o3 

created  by  the  agency  of  nature  pass  from  one 
animal  into  another;  and  that  as  the  brutes  are 
begotten  of  corruption,  so  also  are  men.  Further, 
he  has  denied  that  the  Virgin  could  have  borne  a 
child  ;  he  asserted  that  our  Catholic  faith  is  full  of 
blasphemies  against  the  majesty  of  God  ;  that  he 
wished  to  give  himself  to  the  diviner's  art,  and 
draw  the  whole  world  after  him  ;  that  St.  Thomas 
and  all  the  doctors  were  blockheads  compared 
with  himself.  Therefore,  urged  by  my  conscience 
and  by  command  of  my  confessor,  I  have  de- 
nounced this  Bruno  to  the  Holy  Office.  Suspect- 
ing that  he  might  depart,  I  have  locked  him  up  in 
one  of  my  rooms,  at  your  requisition ;  and  because 
I  believe  him  possessed  of  a  demon,  I  pray  you  to 
take  speedy  resolution  concerning  him." 

Two  days  later,  this  Mocenigo,  of  whom  we 
know  no  more  than  that  he  belonged  to  one  of  the 
illustrious  families  of  Venice,  and  was  thirty-four 
years  of  age,  added  to  his  accusations :  "  On  that 
day  when  I  had  Giordano  Bruno  locked  up,  on 
my  asking  him  if  he  would  teach  me  what  he  had 
promised,  in  view  of  the  many  courtesies  and  gifts 
he  had  had  from  me,  so  that  I  might  not  accuse 
him  of  the  many  wicked  words  which  he  had  said 
to  me,  both  against  our  Lord  and  against  the  Holy 
Catholic  Church,  he  replied  that  he  was  not  afraid 
of  the  Inquisition,  because  he  offended  nobody  in 


254  PORTRAITS 

livino-  as  he  chose  ;  and  then  that  he  did  not  re- 
member  to  have  said  anything  bad  to  me,  and  that 
even  if  he  had  said  it  he  had  said  it  to  me  alone, 
and  that  he  did  not  fear  that  I  could  harm  him  iff 
this  way,  and  that,  even  should  he  come  under  the 
hand  of  the  Inquisition,  it  could  at  the  most  force 
him  to  wear  his  friar's  gown  again." 

On  May  29,  Mocenigo,  who  had  in  the  mean 
time,  at  the  suggestion  of  the  Inquisition,  dredged 
in  the  slimy  depths  of  his  memory  for  other 
charges,  informed  the  Father  Inquisitor  that  he 
had  heard  Bruno  say  "  that  the  forms  which  the 
Church  now  uses  are  not  those  which  the  Apostles 
used,  because  the  Apostles,  by  preaching  and  by 
example  of  a  good  life,  converted  the  people,  but 
that  now  he  who  wiU  not  be  a  Catholic  must  suffer 
the  rod  and  punishment,  because  force  is  used,  and 
not  love  ;  that  the  world  could  not  go  on  thus, 
because  now  only  ignorance,  and  not  religion,  is 
good ;  that  the  Catholic  religion  pleased  him  more 
than  the  others,  but  that  it  had  need  of  great  for- 
malities, which  was  not  right,  but  very  soon  the 
world  would  see  itself  reformed,  because  it  was 
impossible  that  such  corruption  should  endure. 
He  told  me,  too,  that  now,  when  the  greatest  igno- 
rance flourishes  which  the  world  ever  had,  some 
glory  in  having  the  greatest  knowledge  there  ever 
was,  because  they  say  they  know  what  they  do  not 


GIORDANO   BRUXO  255 

understand,  —  which  is,  that  God  can  be  one  and 
three,  —  and  that  these  are  impossibilities,  igno- 
rances, and  most  shocking  blasphemies  against  the 
majesty  of  God.  Besides  this,  he  said  that  he 
liked  women  hugely,  and  that  the  Church  com- 
mitted a  great  sin  in  calling  sin  that  which  is 
according  to  nature." 

After  these  charges,  we  hear  no  more  of  this 
latter-day  Judas,  Giovanni  Mocenigo.  Honest  we 
can  hardly  deem  him,  for  he  confesses  that  he  in- 
tended to  betray  Bruno  long  before  he  did  betray 
him,  and  only  delayed  till  he  should  gather  suffi- 
cient damning  evidence  against  him.  And  so  we 
dismiss  him  to  join  the  despicable  crew  of  those 
who  were  traitors  to  their  lords  and  benefactors. 

The  Inquisition  examined  four  other  witnesses. 
Two  booksellers,  Giotto  and  Bertano,  deposed  that 
they  had  known  Bruno  at  Frankfort-on-the-Main, 
whither  they  went  to  attend  the  famous  book- 
fairs  ;  that  they  had  not  heard  him  say  aught 
which  caused  them  to  believe  he  was  not  a  Catho- 
lic and  a  good  Christian ;  but  that  he  had  the 
reputation  of  being  a  philosopher,  who  spent  his 
time  in  writing  and  "  in  meditating  new  things." 
Andrea  Morosini,  a  gentleman  of  noble  birth,  tes- 
tified that  during  the  recent  months  Bruno  had 
been  at  his  house,  whither  divers  gentlemen  and 
also  prelates  were  wont  to  meet  to  discuss  letters, 


256  PORTRAITS 

and  principally  philosophy  ;  but  that  he  had  never 
inferred  from  Bruno's  remarks  that  he  held  opin- 
ions contrary  to  the  faith.  Finally,  Fra  Domenico 
da  Nocera,  of  the  Order  of  Preachers,  deposed  that 
"one  day,  near  the  feast  of  Pentecost,  as  I  was 
coming  out  of  the  sacristy  of  the  church  of  John 
and  Paul,  a  layman,  whom  I  did  not  know,  bowed 
to  me,  and  presently  engaged  in  conversation. 
He  said  he  was  a  friar  of  our  province  of  Naples, 
a  man  of  letters ;  Fra  Giordano  of  Nola,  his  name. 
So  we  sought  out  a  retired  part  of  the  aforesaid 
church.  Then  he  told  me  how  he  had  renounced 
the  gown ;  of  the  many  kingdoms  he  had  trav- 
ersed, and  the  royal  courts,  with  his  important 
exercises  in  letters  ;  but  that  he  had  always  lived 
as  a  Catholic.  And  I  asking  him  what  he  was  do- 
ing in  Venice,  and  how  he  was  living,  he  said  that 
he  had  been  in  Venice  but  very  few  days,  and  was 
living  comfortably  ;  that  he  proposed  to  get  tran- 
quillity and  write  a  book  he  had  in  his  head,  and 
to  present  it  to  his  Holiness,  for  the  quiet  of  his 
conscience  and  in  order  to  be  allowed  to  remain  in 
Rome,  and  there  devote  himself  to  literary  work, 
to  show  his  ability,  and  perhaps  to  obtain  a  lec- 
tureship." 

So  far  as  we  know,  the  Holy  Office  examined 
no  other  witnesses.  Tliat  tribunal  of  the  Inqui- 
sition   at  Venice   was   composed,  in  1592,  of  the 


GIORDANO   BRUNO  257 

Apostolic  Nuncio,  Monsignor  Taberna ;  of  the  Pa- 
triarch, Monsignor  Lorenzo  Priuli  ;  of  the  Father 
Inquisitor,  Giovanni  Gabriele  da  Saluzzo,  a  Do- 
minican ;  and  of  three  nobles  appointed  by  the 
State,  and  called  the  savil  alV  eresia  (sages  or 
experts  in  heresy),  who  reported  all  proceedings 
to  the  Doge  and  Senate,  and  stopped  the  delibera- 
tions when  they  deemed  them  contrary  to  the  laws 
and  customs  of  the  State,  or  to  the  secret  instruc- 
tions they  had  received.  These  three  sages  were, 
in  that  year,  Luigi  Foscari,  Sebastian  Barbarigo, 
and  Tomaso  Morosini. 

Before  this  tribunal,  which  sat  at  the  prison  of 
the  Inquisition,  appeared  the  prisoner,  Giordano 
Bruno,  on  Tuesday,  May  26,  1592.  He  was  a 
small,  lean  man,  in  aspect  about  forty  years  old, 
with  a  slight  chestnut  beard.  On  being  bidden  to 
speak,  he  began  :  — 

"  I  will  speak  the  truth.  Several  times  I  have 
been  threatened  with  being  brought  to  this  Holy 
Office,  and  I  have  always  held  it  as  a  jest,  because 
I  am  ready  to  give  an  account  of  myself.  While 
at  Frankfort  last  year,  I  had  two  letters  from 
Signor  Giovanni  Mocenigo,  in  which  he  invited 
me  to  come  to  Venice,  as  he  wished  me  to  teach 
him  the  art  of  memory  and  invention,  promising 
to  treat  me  well,  and  that  I  should  be  satisfied 
with  him.     And  so  I  came,  seven  or  eight  months 


ojS  PORTRAITS 

ago.  I  have  taught  him  various  terms  pertaining 
to  these  two  sciences ;  living  at  first  outside  of  his 
house,  and  latterly  in  his  own  house.  And,  as  it 
seemed  to  me  that  I  had  done  and  taught  him  as 
much  as  was  necessary,  and  as  was  my  duty  in 
respect  to  the  things  he  had  sought  me  for,  and 
deliberating,  therefore,  to  return  to  Frankfort  to 
publish  certain  of  my  works.  I  took  leave  of  him 
last  Thursday,  so  as  to  depart.  He,  hearing  this, 
and  doubting  lest  I  wished  to  leave  his  house  to 
teach  other  persons  the  very  sciences  I  had  taught 
him  and  others,  rather  than  to  go  to  Frankfort,  as 
I  announced,  was  most  urgent  to  detain  me ;  but 
I  none  the  less  insisting  on  going,  he  began  at  first 
to  complain  that  I  had  not  taught  him  all  I  had 
aorreed,  and  then  to  threaten  me  by  saving  that,  if 
I  would  not  remain  of  my  own  accord,  he  would  find 
means  to  compel  me.  And  the  following  night, 
which  was  Friday,  seeing  me  firm  in  my  resolution 
of  going,  and  that  I  had  put  my  things  in  order, 
and  arranged  to  send  them  to  Frankfort,  he  came, 
when  I  was  in  bed,  with  the  pretext  of  wishing  to 
speak  to  me :  and  after  he  had  entered,  there  fol- 
lowed his  servant  Bortolo,  with  five  or  six  others, 
who  were,  as  I  believed,  gondoliers  of  the  sort 
near  by.  And  they  made  me  get  out  of  bed,  and 
conducted  me  up  to  an  attic,  and  locked  me  in 
there,  Master  Giovanni  saving  that,  if  I  would  re- 


GIORDAXO   BRUXO  259 

main  and  instruct  him  in  the  terms  of  memory  and 
of  geometrr,  as  he  had  wished  hitherto,  he  would 
set  me  at  liberty  :  otherwise,  something  disagree- 
able would  happen  to  me.  And  I  replying  all 
along  that  I  thought  I  had  taught  him  enough, 
and  more  than  I  was  bound,  and  that  I  did  not 
deserve  to  be  treated  in  that  fashion,  he  left  me 
till  the  next  day,  when  there  came  a  captain,  ac- 
companied by  certain  men  whom  I  did  not  know, 
and  had  them  lead  me  down  to  a  storeroom  on 
the  ground-floor  of  the  house,  where  they  left  me 
till  night.  Then  came  another  captain,  with  his 
assistants,  and  conducted  me  to  the  prison  of  this 
Holy  Office,  whither  I  believe  I  have  been  brought 
by  the  work  of  the  aforesaid  Ser  Giovanni,  who, 
indignant  for  the  reason  I  have  given,  has,  I  think, 
made  some  accusation  against  me. 

"  My  name  is  Giordano,  of  the  Bruno  family, 
of  the  city  of  Xola,  twelve  miles  from  Naples. 
I  was  bom  and  brought  up  in  that  town  ;  my  pro- 
fession has  been,  and  is,  that  of  letters  and  every 
science.  My  father's  name  was  Giovanni,  my 
mother's  Fraulissa  Savolina ;  he  being  a  soldier 
by  profession,  who  died  at  the  same  time  with  my 
mother.  I  am  about  forty-four  years  old,  being 
born,  according  to  what  my  people  told  me,  in  the 
year  1548.  From  my  fourteenth  year  I  was  at 
Naples,  to  learn    humanity,  logic,  and   dialectics. 


260  PORTRAITS 

and  I  used  to  attend  the  public  lectures  of  a  cer- 
tain Sarnese  ;  I  heard  logic  privately  from  an 
Augustinian  father,  called  Fra  Theofilo  da  Vai- 
rano,  who  subsequently  lectured  on  metaphysics  at 
Rome.  When  I  was  fourteen  or  fifteen,  I  put  on 
the  habit  of  St.  Dominick  at  the  convent  of  St. 
Dominick  at  Naples.  After  the  year  of  probation 
I  was  admitted  to  the  profession,  and  then  I  was 
promoted  to  holy  orders  and  to  the  priesthood  in 
due  time,  and  sang  my  first  mass  at  Campagna, 
a  town  in  the  same  kingdom.  I  lived  there  in  a 
convent  of  the  same  order,  called  St.  Bartholomew, 
and  continued  in  this  garb  of  St.  Dominick,  cele- 
brating mass  and  the  divine  officeSj  and  obedience 
to  the  superiors  of  the  said  order  and  of  the  priors 
of  monasteries,  till  1576,  the  year  after  the  Jubi- 
lee. I  was  then  at  Rome,  in  the  convent  of  the 
Minerva,  under  Master  Sisto  de  Luca,  procurator 
of  the  order,  whither  I  had  come  because  at  Naples 
I  had  been  brought  to  trial  twice  :  the  first  time 
for  having  given  away  certain  representations 
.  and  images  of  the  saints,  and  kept  only  a  crucifix, 
wherefore  I  was  charged  with  spuming  the  images 
of  the  saints ;  and,  again,  for  saying  to  a  novice, 
who  was  reading  The  History  of  the  Seven  Joys 
in  verse,  what  business  he  had  with  such  a  book,  — • 
to  throw  it  aside,  and  to  read  sooner  some  other 
work,  like   Tlie  Lives  of  the  Holy  Fathers  ;  and 


GIORDANO  BRUNO  261 

this  case  was  renewed  against  me  at  the  time  I 
went  to  Rome,  together  with  other  charges,  which 
I  do  not  know.  On  this  account  I  left  the  order, 
and  put  off  the  gown. 

"  I  went  to  Noli,  in  Genoese  territory,  and  stayed 
there  about  four  months,  teaching  small  boys  gram- 
mar, and  reading  lectures  on  the  sphere  [astro- 
nomy] to  certain  gentlemen  ;  then  I  went  away, 
first  to  Savona,  where  I  tarried  about  a  fortnight, 
and  thence  to  Turin.  Not  finding  entertainment 
there  to  my  taste,  I  came  to  Venice  by  the  Po, 
and  lived  a  month  and  a  half  in  the  Frezzaria,  in 
the  lodging  of  a  man  employed  at  the  Arsenal, 
whose  name  I  do  not  know.  Whilst  I  was  here, 
I  had  printed  this  work  [On  the  Signs  of  the 
Times],  to  make  a  little  money  for  my  support; 
I  showed  it  first  to  Father  Remigio  de  Fiorenza. 
Departing  hence,  I  went  to  Padua,  where  I  found 
some  Dominican  fathers,  acquaintances  of  mine, 
who  persuaded  me  to  wear  the  habit  again,  even 
if  I  should  not  choose  to  return  to  the  order ;  for 
it  seemed  to  them  more  proper  to  wear  that  habit 
than  not.  With  this  view  I  went  to  Bergamo, 
and  liad  made  a  garment  of  cheap  white  cloth, 
and  over  it  I  put  the  scapular,  which  I  had  kept 
wben  I  left  Rome.  Thus  attired  I  set  out  for 
Lyons ;  and  at  Charabery,  going  to  lodge  with  the 
order,  and    being  very  decently  entertained,  and 


262  PORTRAITS 

talking  about  this  with  an  Italian  father  who  was 
there,  he  said  to  me,  '  Be  warned,  for  you  will  not 
meet  with  any  sort  of  friendliness  in  these  parts ; 
and  you  will  find  less  the  farther  you  go.'  So  I 
set  out  for  Geneva.  There  I  lodged  at  the  hos- 
telry ;  and,  a  little  after  my  arrival,  the  Marquis 
de  Vico,  a  Neapolitan  who  was  in  that  city,  asked 
me  who  I  was,  and  whether  I  had  gone  there  to 
settle  and  to  profess  the  religion  of  that  place. 
I  replied  to  him,  after  giving  an  account  of  myself 
and  the  reason  why  I  had  left  the  order,  that  I 
did  not  intend  to  profess  that  religion,  because 
I  did  not  know  what  it  was  ;  and  that  therefore  I 
wished  to  abide  there  to  live  in  liberty  and  to  be 
safe,  rather  than  for  any  other  purpose.  Being 
persuaded  to  put  off  that  habit  in  any  case,  I  took 
these  clothes,  and  had  a  pair  of  hose  made,  and 
other  things ;  and  the  marquis,  with  some  other 
Italians,  gave  me  a  sword,  hat,  cloak,  and  other 
necessary  articles,  and,  in  order  that  I  might  sup- 
port myself,  they  procured  proof-reading  for  me. 
I  kept  to  that  work  about  two  months,  going,  how- 
ever, sometimes  to  preaching  and  sermons,  whether 
of  the  Italians  or  of  the  French  who  lectured  and 
preached  there :  among  others,  I  heard  more  than 
once  Nicolo  Balbani,  of  Lucca,  who  read  the  Epis- 
tles of  St.  Paul,  and  preached  on  the  Evangelists. 
But  when  I  was  told  that  I  could  not  stay  long  in 


GIORDANO   BRUNO  263 

that  place  unless  I  should  accept  its  religion,  be- 
cause I  would   have  no  employment  from   them, 
and  finding,  too,  that  I  could  not  earn  enough  to 
live  on,  I  went  thence  to  Toulouse,  where  there  is 
a  famous  university.     Having  become  acquainted 
with  some  intelligent  persons,  I  was  asked  to  lec- 
ture on  the  sphere  to  divers  students,  which  I  did 
—  with  other  lectures  on  philosophy  —  for  perhaps 
six  months.     At  this  point,  the  post  of  '  ordinary  * 
lecturer  in  philosophy,  which  is  filled  by  compe- 
tition, falling  vacant,  I  took  my  doctor's  degree, 
presented   myself   for   the    said   competition,  was 
admitted  and  approved,  and  lectured  in  that  city 
two  years  continuously  on  the  text  of  Aristotle's 
De  Anima  and  other  philosophical  works.     Then, 
on  account  of  the  Civil  Wars,  I  quitted  and  went 
to  Paris,  where,  in  order  to  make  myself  known, 
and  to  give  proof  of  myself,  I  undertook  an  '  ex- 
traordinary '  lectureship,  and  read  thirty  lectures, 
choosing   for   subject    Thirty    Divine    Attributes, 
taken  from  the  first  part  of  St.  Thomas,     Later, 
being  requested  to  accept  an  '  ordinary  '  lecture- 
ship, I  would  not,  because  public  lecturers  in  that 
city  go  generally  to   mass   and    the  other  divine 
offices,  and  I  have  always  avoided  this,  knowing 
that  I  was  excommunicated  because  I  had  quitted 
my   order  and   habit ;    and   although    I  had    that 
'ordinary'    lectureship   at   Toulouse,   I   was   not 


264  PORTRAITS 

forced  to  go  to  mass,  as  I  should  have  been  at 
Paris.  But  conducting  the  '  extraordinary  '  there, 
I  acquired  such  a  name  that  the  king,  Henry  III, 
sent  for  me,  and  wished  to  know  whether  my 
memory  was  natural  or  due  to  magic  art.  I  satis- 
fied him,  both  by  what  I  said,  and  proved  to  him, 
that  it  was  not  by  magic  art,  but  by  science. 
After  this  I  published  a  work  on  the  memory, 
under  the  title  De  Unibris  Idearum^  which  I 
dedicated  to  his  Majesty,  —  on  which  occasion  he 
made  me  '  lecturer  extraordinary,'  with  a  pension  ; 
and  I  continued  to  read  in  that  city  perhaps  five 
years,  when,  on  account  of  the  tumults  which  arose, 
I  took  my  leave,  and  with  letters  from  the  king 
himself  I  went  into  England  to  reside  with  his 
ambassador,  Michael  de  Castelnau.  In  his  house 
I  lived  as  a  gentleman.  I  stayed  in  England 
two  years  and  a  half,  and  when  the  ambassador 
returned  to  France  I  accompanied  him  to  Paris, 
where  I  remained  another  year.  Having  quitted 
Paris  on  account  of  the  tumults,  I  betook  myself 
to  Germany,  stopping  first  at  Mayence,  an  archi- 
episcopal  city,  for  twelve  days.  Finding  neither 
here  nor  at  Wiirzburg,  a  town  a  little  way  off,  any 
entertainment,  I  went  to  Wittenberg,  in  Saxony, 
where  I  found  two  factions,  —  one  of  philosophers, 
who  were  Calvinists,  the  other  of  theologians,  who 
were  Lutherans.     Among  the  latter  was  Alberigo 


GIORDANO  BRUNO  265 

Gentile,  whom  I  had  known  in  England,  a  law- 
professor,  who  befriended  me  and  introduced  me  to 
read  lectures  on  the  Orgaiwn  of  Aristotle;  which 
I  did,  with  other  lectures  in  philosophy,  for  two 
years.  At  that  time,  the  son  of  the  old  Duke  hav- 
ing succeeded  his  father,  who  was  a  Lutheran, 
and  the  son  being  a  Calvinist,  he  began  to  favor 
the  party  opposed  to  those  who  favored  me  ;  so 
I  departed,  and  went  to  Prague,  and  stayed  six 
months.  Whilst  there,  I  published  a  book  on 
geometry,  which  I  presented  to  the  Emperor,  from 
whom  I  had  a  gift  of  three  hundred  thalers.  With 
this  money,  having  quitted  Prague,  I  spent  a  year 
at  the  Julian  Academy  in  Brunswick ;  and  the 
death  of  the  Duke  ^  happening  at  that  time,  I 
delivered  an  oration  at  his  funeral,  in  competition 
with  many  others  from  the  university,  on  which 
account  his  son  and  successor  bestowed  eighty 
crowns  of  those  parts  upon  me ;  and  I  went  away 
to  Frankfort  to  publish  two  books,  —  one  De 
3fi7iimo,  and  the  other  De  Numero,  Monade^  et 
Figura,  etc.  I  stayed  about  six  months  at  Frank- 
fort, lodging  in  the  convent  of  the  Carmelites,  — 
a  place  assigned  to  me  by  the  publisher,  who 
was  obliged  to  provide  me  a  lodging.  And  from 
Frankfort,  having  been  invited,  as  I  have  said,  by 

*  "  Who  was  a  heretic  "  is  written  on  the  margin  of  the  original 
proces-verbal. 


266  PORTRAITS 

Ser  Giovanni  Mocenigo,  I  came  to  Venice  seven 
or  eight  mouths  ago,  where  what  has  since  hap- 
pened I  have  already  related.  I  was  going  anew 
to  Frankfort  to  print  other  works  of  mine,  and 
one  in  particular  on  The  Seven  Liberal  Arts^  with 
the  intention  of  taking  these  and  some  other  of 
my  published  works  which  I  approve  —  for  some 
I  do  not  approve  —  and  of  going  to  Rome  to  lay 
them  at  the  feet  of  his  Holiness,  who,  I  have  un- 
derstood, loves  the  virtuous,  and  to  put  my  case 
before  him,  with  a  view  to  obtain  absolution  from 
excesses,  and  permission  to  live  in  the  clerical 
garb  outside  of  the  order.  ...  I  said  I  wish  to 
present  myself  at  the  feet  of  his  Holiness  with 
some  of  my  approved  works,  as  I  have  some  I  do 
not  approve,  meaning  by  that  that  some  of  the 
works  written  by  me  and  sent  to  the  press  I  do 
not  approve,  because  in  them  I  have  spoken  and 
discussed  too  philosophically,  unbecomingly,  and 
not  enough  like  a  good  Christian  ;  and  in  par- 
ticular I  know  that  in  some  of  these  works  I 
have  taught  and  maintained  philosophically  things 
which  ought  to  be  attributed  to  the  power,  wis- 
dom, and  goodness  of  God  according  to  the  Chris- 
tian faith ;  founding  my  doctrine  on  sense  and 
reason,  and  not  on  faith.  So  much  for  them  in 
general ;  concerning  particulars,  I  refer  to  the 
writings,  for  I  do  not  now  recall  a  single  article  or 


GIORDANO   BRUNO  267 

particular  doctrine  I  may  have  taught,  but  I  will 
reply  according  as  I  shall  be  questioned  and  as 
I  shall  remember.   .  .  . 

"  The  subject  of  all  my  books,  speaking  broadly, 
is  philosophy.  In  all  of  them  I  have  always  de- 
fined in  the  manner  of  philosophy  and  according 
to  principles  and  natural  light,  not  having  most 
concern  as  to  what,  according  to  faith,  ought  to 
be  believed  ;  and  I  think  there  is  nothing  in  them 
from  which  it  can  be  judged  that  I  professedly 
wish  to  impugn  religion  rather  than  to  exalt  phi- 
losophy, although  I  may  have  set  forth  many  impi- 
ous matters  based  on  my  natural  light. 

"  I  have  taught  nothing  directly  against  Catho- 
lic Christian  religion,  although  [I  may  have  done 
so]  indirectly ;  as  was  judged  at  Paris,  where, 
however,  I  was  allowed  to  hold  certain  disputes 
imder  the  title  of  One  Hundred  and  Twenty  Arti- 
ticles  against  the  Peripatetics  and  Other  Vulgar 
Philosophers  (printed  with  permission  of  the  su- 
periors) ;  as  it  was  permitted  to  treat  them  by  the 
way  of  natural  principles,  without  prejudice  to  the 
truth  according  to  the  light  of  faith,  in  which  man- 
ner the  books  of  Aristotle  and  Plato  may  be  read 
and  taught,  which  are  in  similar  fashion,  indirectly 
contrary  to  faith,  —  nay,  much  more  so  than  the 
articles  propounded  and  defended  by  me  in  the 
manner  of  philosophy  :    all  these  can  be  known 


268  PORTRAITS 

from  what  is  piinted  in  my  last  Latin  books  from 
Frankfort,  entitled  De  Minimo^  De  Monade,  de 
Immenso  et  Tnnumerabilibus,  and  in  part  in  De 
Compositione  Imaginum.  In  these  particularly 
you  can  see  ray  intention  and  what  I  have  held, 
which  is,  in  a  word,  I  believe  in  an  infinite  uni- 
verse,—  that  is,  the  effect  of  infinite  divine  power  ; 
because  I  esteemed  it  unworthy  of  the  divine  good- 
ness and  power  that,  when  it  could  produce  besides 
this  world  another,  and  infinite  others,  it  should 
produce  a  single  finite  world  :  so  I  have  declared 
that  there  is  an  infinite  number  of  particular 
worlds  similar  to  this  of  the  earth,  which,  with 
Pythagoras,  I  consider  a  star,  like  which  is  the 
moon,  other  planets,  and  other  stars,  which  are  in- 
finite ;  and  that  all  these  bodies  are  worlds,  with- 
out number,  which  make  up  the  infinite  university 
in  infinite  space,  and  we  call  this  the  infinite  uni- 
verse, in  which  are  numberless  worlds :  so  that 
there  is  a  double  infinitude,  that  of  the  greatness 
of  the  universe,  and  that  of  the  multitude  of  the 
worlds,  —  by  which  indirectly  it  is  meant  to  assail 
the  truth  according  to  faith. 

"  Moreover,  in  this  universe  I  place  a  universal 
Providence,  in  virtue  of  which  everything  lives, 
vegetates,  moves,  and  reaches  its  perfection  ;  and  I 
understand  Providence  in  two  ways  :  one  in  which 
it  is  present  as  the  soul  in  all  matter,  and  all  in 


GIORDANO   BRUXO  269 

any  part  whatsoever,  and  this  I  call  Nature,  the 
shadow  and  footprint  of  the  Deity  ;  the  other  in 
the  ineffable  way  with  which  God,  by  essence,  pre- 
sence, and  power,  is  in  all  things  and  over  all 
things,  not  as  a  part,  but  as  Soul,  in  a  manner 
indescribable.  In  the  Deity  I  understand  all  the 
attributes  to  be  one  and  the  same  substance,  — ■ 
just  as  theologians  and  the  greatest  philosophers 
hold  ;  I  perceive  these  attributes,  power,  wisdom, 
and  goodness,  or  will,  intelligence,  and  love,  by 
means  of  which  things  have,  first,  being  (by  reason 
of  the  will),  then,  orderly  and  distinct  being  (by 
reason  of  the  intelligence),  and  third,  concord  and 
symmetry  (by  reason  of  love)  ;  this  I  believe  is  in 
all  and  above  all,  as  nothing  is  without  participa- 
tion in  being,  and  being  is  not  without  its  essence, 
just  as  nothing  is  beautiful  without  the  presence 
of  beauty  ;  so  nothing  can  be  exempt  from  the 
divine  presence.  In  this  manner,  by  use  of  rea- 
son, and  not  by  use  of  substantial  [theological] 
truth,  I  discern  distinctions  in  the  Deity. 

"  liegarding  the  world  as  caused  and  produced, 
I  meant  that,  as  all  being  depends  on  the  First 
Cause,  I  did  not  shrink  from  the  term  *  creation  ; ' 
which  I  believe  even  Aristotle  expressed,  saying 
that  God  is,  on  whom  the  world  and  Nature  are 
dependent ;  so  that,  according  to  the  explanation 
of  St.  Thomas,  be  the  world  either  eternal  or  tern- 


270  PORTRAITS 

poral  according  to  its  nature,  it  is  dependent  on 
the  First  Cause,  and  nothing  exists  in  it  independ- 
ently. 

"  Next,  concerning  that  which  belongs  to  faith 
—  not  speaking  in  the  manner  of  philosophy  — 
about  the  divine  persons,  that  wisdom  and  that  son 
of  the  mind,  called  by  philosophers  intellect  and 
by  theologians  the  Word,  which  we  are  to  believe 
took  upon  itself  human  flesh,  I,  standing  within 
the  bounds  of  philosophy,  have  not  understood 
it ;  but  I  have  doubted,  and  with  inconstant  faith 
maintained,  —  not  that  I  recall  having  shown  a 
sign  of  it  in  writing  or  in  speech,  excepting  as  in 
other  things  indirectly  one  might  gather  from  my 
belief  and  profession  concerning  those  things  which 
can  be  proved  by  the  reason  and  deduced  from 
natural  light.  And  then  concerning  the  divine 
spirit  in  a  third  jjerson,  I  have  been  able  to  com- 
prehend nothing  in  the  way  in  which  one  ought  to 
believe ;  but  in  the  Pythagorean  way,  conformable 
to  that  way  which  Solomon  points  out,  I  have 
understood  it  to  be  the  soul  of  the  imiverse,  or 
assistant  in  the  universe,  according  to  that  saying 
in  the  Wisdom  of  Solomon,  '  The  Spirit  of  the 
Lord  filleth  the  world  ;  and  that  which  containeth 
all  things  hath  knowledge  of  the  voice.'  ^  This 
seems  to  me  to  agree  to  the  Pythagorean  doc- 
1  Chap.  I,  V,  7. 


GIORDANO  BRUNO  271 

trine  explained  by  Vergil  in  this  passage  of  the 
^neid :  — 

*  Principio  coeliim  ac  terras  camposque  liquentes, 
Lucentemque  globuni  Lunae  Titaniaque  astra, 
Spiritus  intus  alit,  totamque  infusa  per  artus 
Mens  agitat  molem.'  ^ 

*'  I  teach  in  my  philosophy  that  from  this  spirit, 
which  is  called  the  Life  of  the  Universe,  the  life 
and  soul  of  everything  which  has  life  and  soul 
springs  ;  that  it  is  immortal,  just  as  bodies,  so 
far  as  concerns  their  substance,  are  all  immortal, 
death  being  nothing  else  than  division  and  coming 
together  ;  this  doctrine  seems  to  be  expressed  in 
Ecclesiastes,  where  it  says,  '  There  is  no  new  thing 
under  the  sun.  Is  there  anything  whereof  it  may 
be  said,  See,  this  is  new  ? '  and  so  on." 

Inquisitor.  "  Have  you  held,  do  you  hold  and 
believe,  the  Trinity,  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost, 
one  in  essence,  but  distinct  in  person,  as  is  taught 
and  believed  by  the  Catholic  Church  ?  " 

Bruno.  "  Speaking  as  a  Christian,  and  accord- 
ing to  theology,  and  as  every  faithful  Christian 
and  Catholic  ought  to  believe,  I  have  indeed  had 
doubts  about  the  name  '  person  '  as  applied  to  the 
Son  and  the  Holy  Spirit ;  not  understanding  these 
two  persons  to  be  distinct  from  the  Father,  except 
as  I  have  said  above,  speaking  in  the  manner  of 
1  Book  VI,  724-27. 


272  PORTRAITS 

pliilosophy,  and  assigning  the  intelligence  of  the 
Father  to  the  Son,  and  his  love  to  the  Holy  Spirit, 
but  without  comprehending  this  word  '  persons,' 
which  in  St.  Augustine  is  declared  to  be  not  an 
ancient  but  a  new  word,  and  of  his  time  :  and  I 
have  held  this  opinion  since  I  was  eighteen  years 
old  till  now,  but  in  fact  I  have  never  denied,  nor 
taught,  nor  written,  but  only  doubted  in  my  own 
mind,  as  I  have  said." 

Inquisitor.  "  Have  you  believed,  and  do  you 
believe,  all  that  the  Holy  Mother  Catholic  Church 
teaches,  believes,  and  holds  about  the  First  Person, 
and  have  you  ever  in  any  wise  doubted  concerning 
the  First  Person?" 

Bruno.  "  I  have  believed  and  held  undoubtingly 
all  that  every  faithful  Christian  ought  to  believe 
and  hold  concerning  the  First  Person.  Regarding 
the  Second  Person,  I  declare  that  I  have  held  it 
to  be  really  one  in  essence  with  the  First,  and  so 
the  Third ;  because,  being  indivisible  in  essence, 
they  cannot  suffer  inequality,  for  all  the  attributes 
which  belong  to  the  Father  belong  also  to  the  Son 
and  Holy  Spirit :  only  I  have  doubted,  as  I  said 
above,  how  this  Second  Person  could  become  incar- 
nate and  could  have  suffered ;  nevertheless  I  have 
never  denied  nor  taught  that,  and  if  I  have  said 
anythiug  about  this  Second  Person,  I  have  said  it 
in  quoting  the  opinions  of  others,  like  Arius  and 


GIORDANO   BRUNO  273 

Sabellius  and  other  followers  of  theirs.  I  will  tell 
what  I  must  have  said,  and  which  may  have 
caused  scandal  and  suspicion,  as  was  set  down  in 
the  first  charges  against  me  at  Naples,  to  wit :  I 
declared  that  the  opinion  of  Arius  seemed  less 
pernicious  than  it  was  commonly  esteemed  and  un- 
derstood, because  it  is  commonly  understood  that 
Arius  meant  to  say  that  the  Word  is  the  first  thing 
created  by  the  Father;  whereas  I  declared  that 
Arius  said  that  the  Word  was  neither  creator  nor 
creature,  but  midway  between  creator  and  crea- 
ture, —  as  the  word  is  midway  between  the  speaker 
and  the  thing  spoken,  —  and  therefore  that  the 
Word  was  the  first-born  before  all  creatures,  not 
hy  which,  but  through  which  everything  has  been 
created,  not  to  which  but  through  which  everything 
is  referred  and  returns  to  the  ultimate  end,  which 
is  the  Father.  I  exaggerated  on  this  theme  so  that 
I  was  regarded  with  suspicion.  I  recall  further 
to  have  said  here  in  Venice  that  Arius  did  not 
intend  to  say  that  Christ,  that  is  the  Word,  is  a 
creature,  but  a  mediator  in  the  sense  I  have  stated. 
I  do  not  remember  the  precise  place,  whether  at  a 
drufrcist's  or  bookseller's,  but  I  know  I  said  this 
in  one  of  these  shops,  arguing  with  certain  priests 
who  made  a  show  of  theology  :  I  know  not  who 
they  were,  nor  should  I  recognize  them  if  I  saw 
them.     To  make  my  statement  more  clear,  I  repeat 


L>74  PORTRAITS 

that  I  have  held  there  is  one  God,  distinguished  as 
Father,  as  Word,  and  as  Love,  which  is  the  Divine 
Spirit,  and  that  all  these  three  are  one  God  in 
essence  ;  but  I  have  not  understood,  and  have 
doubted,  how  these  three  can  get  the  name  of 
persons,  for  it  did  not  seem  to  me  that  this  name 
of  person  was  applicable  to  the  Deity ;  and  I  sup- 
ported myself  in  this  by  the  words  of  St.  Augus- 
tine, who  says,  '  Cum  formidine  proferimus  hoc 
nomen  personae,  quando  loquimur  de  divinisy  et 
necessitate  coacti  utimur  ;  '  besides  which,  in  the 
Old  and  New  Testaments  I  have  not  foimd  nor 
read  this  expression  nor  this  form  of  speech." 

Inquisitor.  "Having  doubted  the  Incarnation 
of  the  Word,  what  has  been  your  opinion  about 
Christ?" 

Bruno.  "  I  have  thought  that  the  divinity  of 
the  Word  was  present  in  the  humanity  of  Christ 
individually,  and  I  have  not  been  able  to  under- 
stand that  it  was  a  imion  like  that  of  soul  and 
body,  but  a  presence  of  such  a  kind  that  we  could 
truly  say  of  this  man  that  he  was  God,  and  of  this 
divinity  that  it  was  man ;  because  between  sub- 
stance infinite  and  divine  and  substance  finite  and 
human  there  is  no  proportion  as  between  soul  and 
body,  or  any  other  two  things  which  can  make  up 
one  existence  ;  and  I  believe,  therefore,  that  St. 
Augustine  shrank  from  applying  that  word  '  per- 


GIORDANO   BRUNO  275 

son '  to  this  case :  so  that,  in  conclusion,  I  think, 
as  regards  my  doubt  of  the  Incarnation,  I  have 
wavered  concerning  its  ineffable  meaning,  but  not 
against  the  Holy  Scripture,  which  says  '  the  Word 
is  made  flesh.' " 

Inquisitor.  "  What  opinion  have  you  had  con- 
cerning the  miracles,  acts,  and  death  of  Christ?" 

Bruno.  "  I  have  held  what  the  Holy  Catholic 
Church  holds,  although  I  have  said  of  the  mira- 
cles that,  while  they  are  testimony  of  the  divinity 
[of  Christ],  the  evangelical  law  is,  in  my  opinion, 
a  stronger  testimony,  because  the  Lord  said  *  he 
shall  do  greater  than  these '  miracles  ;  and  it  oc- 
curred to  me  that  whilst  others,  like  the  Apostles, 
wrought  miracles,  so  that,  in  their  external  effect, 
they  seemed  like  those  wrought  by  him,  Christ 
worked  by  his  own  virtue,  and  the  Apostles  by 
virtue  of  another's  power.  Therefore  I  have 
maintained  that  the  miracles  of  Christ  were  di- 
vine, true,  real,  and  not  apparent ;  nor  have  I  ever 
thought,  said,  nor  believed  the  contrary. 

"  I  have  never  spoken  of  the  sacrifice  of  the 
mass,  nor  of  transubstantiation,  except  in  the  way 
the  Holy  Church  holds.  I  have  believed,  and  do 
believe,  that  the  transubstantiation  of  the  bread 
and  wine  into  the  body  and  blood  of  Christ  takes 
place  really  and  in  substance." 

Inquisitor.    "  Did  you  ever  say  that  Christ  was 


276  PORTRAITS 

not  God,  but  a  good-for-nothing,  and  that,  doing 
wretched  works,  he  ought  to  have  expected  to  be 
put  to  death,  although  he  showed  that  he  died  un- 
willingly ?  " 

Bruno.  "  I  am  astonished  that  this  question  is 
put  to  me,  for  I  have  never  had  such  opinions,  nor 
said  such  a  thing,  nor  thought  aught  contrary  to 
what  I  said  just  now  about  the  person  of  Christ, 
which  is  that  I  believe  what  the  Holy  Mother 
Church  believes.  I  know  not  how  these  things 
are  imputed  to  me."  At  this  he  seemed  much 
grieved. 

Inquisitor.  "  In  reasoning  about  the  Incarna- 
tion of  the  Word,  what  have  you  held  concern- 
ing the  delivery  of  the  said  Word  by  the  Virgin 
Mary  ?  " 

Bruno.  "  That  it  was  conceived  of  the  Holy 
Ghost,  born  of  Mary  as  Virgin  ;  and  when  any  one 
shall  find  that  I  have  said  or  maintained  the  con- 
trary, I  will  submit  myself  to  any  punishment." 

Inquisitor.  "  Do  you  know  the  import  and 
effect  of  the  sacrament  of  penance  ?  " 

Bruno.  "  I  know  that  it  is  ordained  to  purge 
our  sins ;  and  never,  never  have  I  talked  on  this 
subject,  but  have  always  held  that  whosoever  dies 
in  mortal  sin  will  be  damned.  It  is  about  sixteen 
years  since  I  presented  myself  to  a  confessor,  ex- 
cept  on   two   occasions :    once   at  Toulouse,  to  a 


GIORDANO   BRUNO  277 

Jesuit,  and  another  time  in  Paris,  to  another 
Jesuit,  whilst  I  was  treating,  through  the  Bishop 
of  Bergamo,  then  nuncio  at  Paris,  and  through 
Don  Bernardin  de  Mendoza,  to  reenter  my  order, 
with  a  view  to  confessing  ;  and  they  said  that, 
being  an  apostate,  they  could  not  absolve  me,  and 
that  I  could,  not  go  to  the  holy  offices,  wherefore 
I  have  abstained  from  the  confessional  and  from 
going  to  mass.  I  have  intended,  however,  to 
emerge  some  time  from  these  censures,  and  to  live 
like  a  Christian  and  a  priest ;  and  when  I  have 
sinned  I  have  always  asked  pardon  of  God,  and 
I  would  also  willingly  have  confessed  if  I  could, 
because  I  have  firmly  believed  that  impenitent  sin- 
ners are  damned." 

Inquisitor.  "You  hold,  therefore,  that  souls 
are  immortal,  and  that  they  do  not  pass  from  one 
body  into  another,  as  we  have  information  you 
have  said  ?  " 

Bimno.  "  I  have  held,  and  hold,  that  souls  are 
immortal,  and  that  they  are  subsisting  substances, 
that  is  rational  souls,  and  that,  speaking  as  a 
Catholic,  they  do  not  pass  from  one  body  into  an- 
other, but  go  either  to  paradise  or  to  purgatory,  or 
to  hell ;  but  I  have,  to  be  sure,  argued,  following 
philosophical  reasons,  that  as  the  soul  subsists  in 
the  body,  and  is  non-existent  in  the  body  [that  is, 
not  an  integral  part  of  it],  it  may,  in  the  same 


278  PORTRAITS 

way  that  it  exists  in  one,  exist  in  another,  and  pass 
from  one  to  another  ;  and  if  this  be  not  true,  it  at 
least  seems  like  the  opinion  of  Pythagoras." 

Inquisitor.  "  Have  you  busied  yourself  much 
in  theological  studies,  and  are  you  instructed  in 
the  Catholic  resolutions  ?  " 

Bruno.  "  Not  a  great  deal,  having  devoted  my- 
self to  philosophy,  which  has  been  my  profession." 

Inquisitor.  "  Have  you  ever  vituperated  the 
theologians  and  their  decisions,  calling  their  doc- 
trine vanity  and  other  similar  opprobrious  names  ?  " 

Bruno.  "  Speaking  of  the  theologians  who  in- 
terpret Holy  Scripture,  I  have  never  spoken  other- 
wise than  well.  I  may  have  said  something  about 
some  one  in  particular,  and  blamed  him,  —  some 
Lutheran  theologian,  for  instance,  or  other  here- 
tics, —  but  I  have  always  esteemed  the  Catholic 
theologians,  especially  St.  Thomas,  whose  works  I 
have  ever  kept  by  me,  read,  and  studied,  and  hon- 
ored them,  and  I  have  them  at  present,  and  hold 
them  very  dear." 

Inquisitor.  "  Which  have  you  reckoned  hereti- 
cal theologians?" 

Bruno.  "  All  those  who  profess  theology,  but 
who  do  not  agree  with  the  Roman  Church,  I  have 
esteemed  heretics.  I  have  read  books  by  Melanch- 
thon,  Luther,  Calvin,  and  by  other  heretics  beyond 
the  mountains,  not  to  learn  their  doctrine  nor  to 


GIORDANO   BRUNO  279 

avail  myself  of  it,  for  I  deemed  them  more  igno- 
rant than  myself,  but  I  read  them  out  of  curiosity. 
I  despise  these  heretics  and  their  doctrines,  be- 
cause they  do  not  merit  the  name  of  theologians, 
but  of  pedants ;  for  the  Catholic  ecclesiastical  doc- 
tors, on  the  contrary,  I  have  the  esteem  I  should." 

Inquisitor.  "  How,  then,  have  you  dared  to  say 
that  the  Catholic  faith  is  full  of  blasphemies,  and 
without  merit  in  God's  sight  ?  " 

Bnino.  "  Never  have  I  said  such  a  thing, 
neither  in  writing,  nor  in  word,  nor  in  thought." 

Inqidsitor.  "  What  things  are  needful  for  sal- 
vation ?  " 

Bruno.  "  Faith,  hope,  and  charity.  Good 
works  are  also  necessary  ;  or  it  will  suffice  not  to 
do  to  others  that  which  we  do  not  wish  to  have 
done  to  us,  and  to  live  morally." 

Inquisitor.  "  Have  you  ever  denounced  the 
Catholic  religious  orders,  especially  for  having 
revenues  ?  " 

Bruno.  "  I  have  never  denounced  one  of  them 
for  any  cause ;  on  the  contrary,  I  have  found  fault 
when  the  clergy,  lacking  income,  are  forced  to 
beg  ;  and  I  was  surprised,  in  France,  when  I  saw 
certain  priests  going  about  the  streets  to  beg,  with 
open  missals." 

Inquisitor.  "  Did  you  ever  say  that  the  life  of 
the  clergy  does  not  conform  to  that  of  the  Apos- 
tles ?  " 


280  PORTRAITS 

Bnmo.  "  I  have  never  said  nor  held  such  a 
thing  !  "  And  as  he  said  this  he  raised  his  hands, 
and  looked  about  astonished.  In  answer  to  an- 
other question,  he  continued  :  "  I  have  said  that 
the  Apostles  achieved  more  by  their  preaching, 
good  life,  examples,  and  miracles  than  force  can 
accomplish,  which  is  used  against  those  who  refuse 
to  be  Catholics  ;  without  condemning  this  method, 
I  approve  the  other." 

Inquisitor.  "  Have  you  ever  said  that  the  mira- 
cles wrought  by  Christ  and  the  Apostles  were  ap- 
parent miracles,  done  by  magic  art,  and  not  real ; 
and  that  you  have  enough  spirit  to  work  the  same 
or  greater,  and  wished  finally  to  make  the  whole 
world  run  after  you?  " 

Bruno  (lifting  up  both  his  hands).  "  What  is 
this  ?  What  man  has  invented  this  devilishness  ? 
I  have  never  said  such  a  thing,  nor  has  it  entered 
my  imagination.  O  God,  what  is  this?  I  had 
rather  be  dead  than  that  this  should  be  proposed 
to  me  !  " 

Inquisitor.  "What  opinion  have  you  of  the 
sin  of  the  flesh,  outside  of  the  sacrament  of  matri- 
mony  : 

Bruno.  "  I  have  spoken  of  this  sometimes,  say- 
ing, in  general,  that  it  was  a  lesser  sin  than  the 
others,  but  that  adultery  was  the  chief  of  carnal 
sins,  whereas   the    other  was   lighter,  and  almost 


GIORDANO   BRUNO  281 

venial.  This,  indeed,  I  have  said,  but  I  know  and 
acknowledge  to  have  spoken  in  error,  because  I 
remember  what  St.  Paul  says.  However,  I  spoke 
thus  through  levity,  being  with  others  and  discuss- 
ing worldly  topics.  I  have  never  said  that  the 
Church  made  a  great  mistake  in  constituting  this 
a  sin.  .  .  . 

"  I  hold  it  a  pious  and  holy  thing,  as  the  Church 
ordains,  to  observe  fasts  and  abstain  from  meat 
and  prohibited  food  on  the  days  she  appoints,  and 
that  every  faithful  Catholic  is  bound  to  observe 
them  ;  which  I  too  would  have  done  except  for  the 
reason  given  above ;  and  God  help  me  if  I  have 
ever  eaten  meat  out  of  contempt  [for  the  Church]. 
As  for  having  listened  to  heretics  preach,  or  lec- 
ture, or  dispute,  I  did  so  several  times  from  curios- 
ity and  to  see  their  methods  and  eloquence,  rather 
than  from  delight  or  enjoyment ;  indeed,  after  the 
reading  or  sermon,  at  the  time  when  they  distrib- 
uted bread  according  to  their  form  of  commun- 
ion, I  went  away  about  ray  business,  and  never 
partook  of  their  bread  nor  observed  their  rites." 

Inquisitor.  "  From  your  explanation  of  the 
Incarnation  there  follows  another  grave  error, 
namely,  tliat  in  Christ  there  was  a  human  jierson- 
ality." 

Bruno.  "  I  recognize  and  concede  tliat  these 
and   other   improprieties  may  follow,  and   I   liave 


282  PORTRAITS 

stated  this  opinion,  not  to  defend,  but  only  to 
explain  it ;  and  I  confess  my  error  such  and  so 
great  as  it  is  ;  and  had  I  applied  my  mind  to  this 
adduced  impropriety  and  to  others  deducible  from 
it,  I  should  not  have  reached  these  conclusions, 
because  I  may  have  erred  in  the  premises,  but 
certainly  not  in  the  conclusions." 

Inquisitor.  "Do  you  remember  to  have  said 
that  men  are  begotten  of  corruption,  like  the  other 
animals,  and  that  this  has  been  since  the  Deluge 
down  to  the  present  ?  " 

Bruno.  "  I  believe  this  is  the  opinion  of  Lucre- 
tius. I  have  read  it  and  heard  it  talked  about, 
but  I  do  not  recall  having  referred  to  it  as  my 
opinion  ;  nor  have  I  ever  believed  it.  When  I 
reasoned  about  it,  I  did  so  referring  it  to  Lucre- 
tius, Epicurus,  and  their  similars,  and  it  is  not 
possible  to  deduce  it  from  my  philosophy,  as  will 
readily  appear  to  any  one  who  reads  that." 

Inquisitor.  "  Have  you  ever  had  any  book  of 
conjurations  or  of  similar  superstitious  arts,  or 
have  you  said  you  wished  to  devote  yourself  to  the 
art  of  divination  ?  " 

Bruno.  "  As  for  books  of  conjurations,  I  have 
always  despised  them,  never  had  them  by  me,  nor 
attributed  any  efficacy  to  them.  As  for  divina- 
tion, particularly  that  relating  to  judicial  astro- 
logy, I  have  said,. and  even  proposed,  to  study  it 


GIORDANO  BRUNO  283 

to  see  if  there  is  any  truth  or  conformity  in  it.  I 
have  communicated  my  purpose  to  several  persons, 
remarking  that,  as  I  have  examined  all  parts  of 
philosophy,  and  inquired  into  all  science  except 
the  judicial,  when  I  had  convenience  and  leisure 
I  wish  to  have  a  look  at  that,  which  I  have  not 
done  yet." 

Inquisitor.  "  Have  you  said  that  the  opera- 
tions of  the  world  are  guided  by  Fate,  denying  the 
providence  of  God  ?  " 

Bruno.  "  This  cannot  be  found  either  in  my 
words  or  in  my  writings ;  on  the  contrary,  you 
will  jBnd,  in  my  books,  that  I  set  forth  providence 
and  free  will.  ...  I  have  praised  many  heretics 
and  also  heretic  princes,  but  not  as  heretics,  but 
only  for  the  moral  virtues  they  possessed.  In 
particular,  in  my  book  De  la  Causa.,  Principio  et 
Uno,  I  praise  the  Queen  of  England,  and  call  her 
*  divine ; '  not  as  an  attribute  of  religion,  but  as 
a  certain  epithet  which  the  ancients  used  also  to 
bestow  on  princes ;  and  in  England,  where  I  then 
was  and  wrote  that  book,  it  is  customary  to  give 
this  title  '  divine  '  to  the  Queen  ;  and  I  was  all  the 
more  persuaded  to  name  her  thus  because  she 
knew  me,  for  I  often  went  with  the  ambassador  to 
court.  I  acknowledge  to  have  erred  in  ])raising 
this  lady,  wlio  is  a  heretic,  and  especially  in  attrib- 
uting to  her  the  epithet  '  divine.'  "... 


284  PORTRAITS 

Inquisitor.  "  Are  the  errors  and  heresies  com- 
mitted and  confessed  by  you  still  embraced,  or  do 
you  detest  them  ?  " 

Bruno.  "  All  the  errors  I  have  committed, 
down  to  this  very  day,  pertaining  to  Catholic  life 
and  regular  profession,  and  all  the  heresies  I  have 
held  and  the  doubts  I  have  had  concerning  the 
Catholic  faith  and  the  questions  determined  by  the 
Holy  Church,  I  now  detest ;  and  I  abhor,  and  re- 
pent me  of  having  done,  held,  said,  believed,  or 
doubted  of  anything  that  was  not  Catholic  ;  and  I 
pray  this  holy  tribunal  that,  knowing  my  infirmi- 
ties, it  will  please  to  accept  me  into  the  bosom  of 
the  Holy  Church,  providing  me  with  remedies  op- 
portune for  my  safety  and  using  me  with  mercy." 

Bruno  was  then  re-questioned  concerning  the 
reason  why  he  broke  away  from  his  order.  He 
repeated,  in  substance,  the  testimony  already  given, 
adding  that  his  baptismal  name  was  Philip. 

Inquisitor.  "  Have  you,  in  these  parts,  any 
enemy  or  other  malevolent  person,  and  who  is  he, 
and  for  what  cause  ?  " 

Bruno.  "  I  have  no  enemy  in  these  parts,  unless 
it  be  Ser  Giovanni  Mocenigo  and  his  followers  and 
servants,  by  whom  I  have  been  more  grievously 
offended  than  by  any  other  man  living,  because  he 
has  assassinated  me  in  my  life,  in  my  honor,  and 
in  my  goods,  —  having  imprisoned  me  in  his  own 


GIORDANO   BRUNO  285 

house,  confiscating  all  my  writings,  books,  and 
other  property ;  and  he  has  done  this,  not  only  be- 
cause he  wished  me  to  teach  him  all  I  knew,  but 
also  because  he  wished  that  I  should  not  teach  it 
to  any  one  else ;  and  he  has  always  threatened  my 
life  and  honor  if .  I  did  not  teach  him  what  I 
knew." 

Inquisitor.  "  Your  apostacy  of  so  many  years 
renders  you  very  suspicious  to  the  Holy  Faith, 
since  you  have  so  long  spurned  her  censures, 
whence  it  may  happen  that  you  have  held  sinister 
opinions  in  other  matters  than  those  you  have 
deposed ;  you  may,  therefore,  and  ought  now  to 
purify  your  conscience." 

Bruno.  "  It  seems  to  me  that  the  articles  I  have 
confessed,  and  all  that  which  I  have  expressed  in 
my  writings,  show  sufficiently  the  importance  of 
my  excess,  and  therefore  I  confess  it,  whatsoever 
may  be  its  extent,  and  I  acknowledge  to  have 
given  grave  cause  for  the  suspicion  of  heresy. 
And  I  add  to  this  that  I  have  always  had  re- 
morse in  my  conscience,  and  the  purpose  of  reform- 
ing, although  I  was  seeking  to  effect  this  in  the 
easiest  and  surest  way,  still  shrinking  from  going 
back  to  the  straitness  of  regular  obedience.  .  .  . 
And  I  was  at  this  veiy  time  putting  in  order  cer- 
tain writings  to  propitiate  his  Holiness,  so  that  I 
might  be  allowed  to  live  more  independently  than 
is  possible  as  an  ecclesiastic.  ... 


286  PORTRAITS 

"  Beginning  with  my  accuser,  who  I  believe  is 
Signor  Giovanni  Mocenigo,  I  think  no  one  will  be 
found  who  can  say  that  I  have  taught  false  and 
heretical  doctrine ;  and  I  have  no  suspicion  that 
any  one  else  can  accuse  me  in  matters  of  holy 
faith.  It  may  be  that  I,  during  so  long  a  course 
of  time,  may  have  erred  and  strayed  from  the 
Church  in  other  matters  than  those  I  have  exposed, 
and  that  I  may  be  ensnared  in  other  censures,  but, 
though  I  have  reflected  much  upon  it,  I  have  dis- 
covered nothing- ;  and  I  now  promptly  confess  my 
errors,  and  am  here  in  the  hands  of  your  Excel- 
lencies to  receive  remedy,  for  my  salvation.  My 
force  does  not  suffice  to  tell  how  great  is  my  re- 
pentance for  my  misdeeds,  nor  to  express  it  as  I 
should  wish."  Having  knelt  down,  he  said  :  "  I 
humbly  ask  pardon  of  God  and  your  Excellencies 
for  all  the  errors  committed  by  me ;  and  I  am 
ready  to  suffer  whatsoever  by  your  prudence  shall 
be  determined  and  adjudged  expedient  for  my 
soul.  And  I  further  supplicate  that  you  rather 
give  me  a  punishment  which  is  excessive  in  grav- 
ity than  make  such  a  public  demonstration  as 
might  bring  some  dishonor  upon  the  holy  habit  of 
the  order  which  I  have  worn  ;  and  if,  through  the 
mercy  of  God  and  of  your  Excellencies,  my  life 
shall  be  granted  to  me,  I  promise  to  make  a  nota- 
ble reform  in  my  life,  and  that  I  will  atone  for  the 
scandal  by  other  and  as  great  edification." 


GIORDAXO   BRUNO  287 

Inquisitor.  "  Have  you  anything  else  to  say  for 
the  present?" 

Bruno.    "  I  have  nothing  more  to  say." 

II 

This  is  the  confession  and  apology  of  Giordano 
Bruno,  taken  from  the  minutes  of  the  Inquisition 
of  Venice,  so  far  as  I  have  been  able  to  interpret 
the  ungrammatical,  ill-punctuated  report  of  the 
secretary.  The  examinations  were  held  on  May 
26  and  30,  June  2,  3,  4,  and  July  30,  1592  ;  and 
as  there  were,  consequently,  many  repetitions  of 
statement,  I  have  condensed  where  it  seemed  ad- 
visable. From  Bruno's  lips  we  hear  the  explana- 
tion of  his  philosophical  system,  his  doubts,  his 
belief,  and  his  recantation  of  any  opinions  which 
clashed  with  the  dogmas  of  Catholicism.  Was  his 
recantation  sincere  ?  Before  answering  this  ques- 
tion, let  us  glance  at  his  opinions  as  he  expressed 
them  freely  in  his  works ;  for  upon  Bruno's  value 
as  a  thinker  must  finally  rest  the  justification  of 
our  interest  in  him.  True,  the  romance  of  his 
strange  vagabond  career  and  the  pathos  of  his  no- 
ble death  will  always  excite  interest  in  his  person- 
ality ;  but  the  final  question  which  mankind  asks 
of  prophet,  philosopher,  poet,  preacher,  or  man  of 
science  is,  "  What  can  you  tell  us  concerning  our 
origin  and  our  destiny  ?  " 


28S  PORTRAITS 

Be  warned  at  the  outset  that  Bruno  furnished 
no  complete,  systematic  reply  to  this  question. 
He  did  not,  like  Sphioza,  reduce  his  system  to  the 
precision  of  a  geometrical  text-book,  all  theorems 
and  corollaries ;  nor,  like  Herbert  Spencer,  did 
he  stow  the  universe  away  in  a  cabinet  of  pigeon- 
holes. He  is  often  inconsistent,  often  contradicts 
himself.  Perhaps  his  chief  merit  is  that  he  stimu- 
lated thought  on  every  subject  he  touched,  and 
that  he  made  sublime  guesses  which  experiment, 
toiling  patiently  after  him,  has  established  as 
truths.  Like  all  searchers  for  truth,  his  purpose 
was  to  discover  the  all-embracing  Unity.  Our 
reason  shows  us  an  unbridgeable  chasm  between 
matter  and  mind ;  the  world  of  ideas  and  the 
outward  world  are  in  perpetual  flux;  nature  is 
composed  of  innumerable  separate  objects,  yet  a 
superior  unity  pervades  them.  Life  and  death 
subsist  antagonistically  side  by  side  :  what  is  that, 
greater  than  both,  which  includes  both?  What  is 
the  permanence  underlying  this  shifting,  evanes- 
cent world  ?  Conscience  likewise  reports  the  con- 
flict between  good  and  evil :  what  is  the  cause  an- 
terior to  both  ?  Many  solutions  have  been  offered ; 
perhaps  the  commonest  is  that  which,  taught  by 
the  Manicheans  and  adopted  by  early  Christians, 
announces  that  there  are  two  principles  in  the 
universe,  —  one  good,  God,  the  other  evil,  Satan. 


GIORDANO   BRUNO  289 

But  insuperable  difficulties  accompany  this  view. 
If  God  be,  as  assumed,  all-powerful,  why  does  he 
not  exterminate  Satan  ;  if  he  be  just,  why  does 
he  permit  evil  to  exist  at  all  ? 

Bruno,  as  we  have  seen  in  his  deposition,  pro- 
claims that  God  is  one  and  indivisible,  the  Soul 
of  the  universe ;  that  his  attributes  are  power, 
wisdom,  and  love ;  that  he  is  in  all  things,  yet 
above  all  things,  not  to  be  understood,  ineffable, 
and  whether  personal  or  impersonal,  man  cannot 
say ;  that  Nature  is  his  footprint,  God  being  the 
nature  of  Nature ;  that  since  every  material  atom 
is  part  of  him,  by  virtue  of  his  inunanence  in  Na- 
ture, it  is  eternal,  and  so  are  human  souls  immor- 
tal, being  emanations  from  his  immortal  spirit ;  but 
whether  souls  preserve  their  identity,  or  whether, 
like  the  atoms,  they  are  forever  re-composed  into 
new  forms,  Bruno  does  not  decide.  This,  si)eak- 
ing  broadly,  is  pantheism ;  and  pantheism  is  a 
system  from  which  we  are  taught  to  recoil  with 
almost  as  much  horror  as  from  atheism.  "  That 
is  mere  pantheism ! "  exclaimed  John  Sterling, 
aghast,  at  one  of  Carlyle's  conclusions.  "  And 
suppose  it  were />o^theism  ?  If  the  thing  is  true  !  " 
replied  Carlyle,  —  a  reply  not  to  be  taken  for  valid 
argument,  perhaps,  yet  worthy  of  being  pondered. 
As  a  pantheist,  then,  we  must  classify  Bruno, — 
in  that  wide  class  which  includes  Spinoza,  Goethe, 


290  PORTRAITS 

Shelley,  and  Emerson,  "  Within  man  is  the  soul 
of  the  whole,"  says  Emerson ;  "  the  wise  silence, 
the  universal  beauty,  to  which  every  part  and 
particle  is  equally  related,  the  eternal  one.  And 
this  deep  power  in  which  we  exist,  and  whose 
beatitude  is  all  accessible  to  us,  is  not  only  self- 
sufficing  and  perfect  in  every  hour,  but  the  act  of 
seeing  and  the  thing  seen,  the  seer  and  the  spec- 
tacle, the  subject  and  the  object,  are  one."  The 
Inquisition  in  1600  would  have  burned  Emerson 
for  those  two  sentences. 

Coming  to  details,  we  find  that  Bruno  shakes 
himself  free  from  the  tyranny  of  Aristotle, — • 
a  mighty  audacity,  to  measure  which  we  must 
remember  that  upon  Aristotle's  arbitrary  dicta 
the  fathers  and  doctors  of  the  Catholic  Church 
had  based  their  dogmas.  Though  a  pagan,  he  had 
been  for  fifteen  hundred  years  the  logical  pillar  of 
Christendom,  uncanouized,  yet  deserving  canoni- 
zation along  with  St.  Thomas  and  St.  Augustine. 
Bruno  dared  to  attack  the  mighty  despot  in  his 
very  strongholds,  the  Sorbonne  and  Oxford,  and,  by 
so  doing,  helped  to  clear  the  road  for  subsequent 
explorers  of  philosophy  and  science.  Equally 
courageous  was  his  championship  of  the  discoveries 
and  theories  of  Copernicus.  Bruno,  we  may  safely 
say,  was  the  first  man  who  realized  the  full  mean- 
ing of  the  Copernican  system,  —  a  meaning  which 


GIORDAXO   BRUNO  291 

even  to-day  the  majority  have  not  grasped.  He 
saw  that  it  was  not  merely  a  question  as  to  whether 
the  earth  moves  round  the  sun,  or  the  sun  moves 
round  the  earth ;  but  that  when  Copernicus  traced 
the  courses  of  our  solar  system,  and  saw  other 
and  yet  other  systems  beyond,  he  invalidated  the 
strong  presumption  upon  which  dogmatic  Chris- 
tianity was  reared.  According  to  the  old  view,  the 
earth  was  the  centre  of  the  universe,  the  especial 
gem  of  God's  creation  ;  as  a  final  mark  of  his 
favor,  God  created  man  to  rule  the  earth,  and 
from  among  men  he  designated  a  few  —  his  "  chosen 
people  "  —  who  should  enjoy  everlasting  bliss  in 
heaven.  But  it  follows  from  Copernicus's  discov- 
eries, that  the  earth  is  but  one  of  a  company  of 
satellites  which  circle  round  the  sun  ;  that  the 
sun  itself  is  but  one  of  innumerable  other  suns, 
each  with  its  satellites ;  that  there  are  probably 
coimtless  inhabited  orbs ;  that  the  scheme  of  sal- 
vation taught  by  the  old  theology  is  inadequate  to 
the  new  conceptions  we  are  bound  to  form  of  the 
majesty,  justice,  and  omnipotence  of  the  Supreme 
Ruler  of  an  infinite  universe.  The  God  whom 
Bruno  apprehended  was  not  one  who  narrowed  his 
interests  to  the  concerns  of  a  Syrian  tribe,  and  of 
a  sect  of  Christians  on  this  little  ball  of  earth,  but 
one  whose  power  is  commensurate  with  infinitude, 
and  who  cherishes  all  creatures  and  all  things  in 


292  PORTRAITS 

all  worlds.  Copernicus  himself  did  not  foresee 
the  full  significance  of  the  discovery  which  de- 
throned the  earth  and  man  from  their  supposed 
preeminence  in  the  universe ;  but  Bruno  caught 
its  mighty  import,  and  the  labors  of  Kepler,  Gali- 
leo, Newton,  Herschel,  and  Darwin  have  corrobo- 
rated him. 

Inspired  by  this  revelation,  Bruno  was  the  first 
to  envisage  religions  as  human  growths,  just  as 
laws  and  customs  are  human  growths,  expressing 
the  higher  or  lower  needs  and  aspirations  of  the 
people  and  age  in  which  they  exist.  His  famous 
satire,  The  Expulsion  of  the  Beast  Triumphant} 
has  a  far  deeper  purpose  than  to  travesty  classic 
mythology,  or  to  ridicule  the  abuses  of  Romanists 
and  Protestants,  or  to  scoff  at  the  exaggerated 
pretensions  of  the  Pope.  Under  the  form  of  an 
allegory,  it  is  a  prophecy  of  the  ultimate  passing 
away  of  all  anthropomorphic  religion.  It  shows 
how  the  god  whom  men  have  worshiped  hitherto 
has  been  endowed  by  them  with  human  passions 
and  attributes,  "  writ  large,"  to  be  sure,  but  still 

1  This,  the  most  famous  of  Bruno's  works,  was  until  recently 
so  rare  that  only  two  or  three  copies  of  it  were  known  to  exist. 
Hence  numerovis  blunders  and  misconceptions  by  critics  who  wrote 
about  it  from  hearsay.  For  a  detailed  analysis  of  "  The  Beast 
Triumphant"  I  may  refer  the  reader  to  The  New  World  for 
September,  1894.  Lucian's  satire,  "  Zeus  in  Heroics,"  may  have 
given  the  hint  to  Bruno. 


GIORDANO   BRUNO  293 

unworthy  of  being  associated  with  that  Soul  of 
the  AVorld  which  is  in  all  things,  yet  above  all 
things.  Everywhere  he  assails  the  doctrine  that 
faith,  without  good  works,  can  lead  to  salvation. 
He  denounces  celibacy,  and  other  unnatural  rules 
of  the  Catholic  Church.  He  denounces  still  more 
vigorously  the  monstrous  theory  of  original  sin, 
according  to  which  an  assumedly  just  God  pun- 
ishes myriads  of  millions  of  human  beings  for  the 
alleged  trespass  of  two  of  their  ancestors.  Bruno 
also  cites  the  discovery  of  new  races  in  America 
as  evidence  that  mankind  are  not  all  descended 
from  Adam  and  Eve  ;  whence  he  infers  that,  since 
the  Mosaic  cosmogony  is  too  narrow  to  explain 
the  creation  and  growth  of  mankind,  the  Hebrew 
scheme  of  vicarious  punishment  and  vicarious  re- 
demption must  be  inadequate.  He  laughs  at  the 
idea  of  a  "chosen  people."  Over  and  over  again 
Bruno  derides  the  assertion  that,  in  order  to  be 
saved,  we  must  despise  our  divinest  guide.  Reason, 
and  be  led  blindly  by  Faith,  reducing  ourselves 
so  far  as  we  can  to  the  level  of  donkeys.  His 
satire.  La  Cahala  del  Cavallo  Pegaseo,  which 
supplements  The  Beast  Triumphant,  is  a  mock 
eulogy  of  this  "  holy  asininity,  holy  ignorance,  holy 
stupidity,  and  pious  devotion,  which  alone  can  make 
souls  so  good  that  human  genius  and  study  cannot 
surpass   them."     "  What  avails,  O  truth-seeker," 


294  PORTRAITS 

he  exclaims  in  one  of  his  finest  sonnets,  ''your 
studving  and  wishing  to  know  how  Xature  works, 
and  whether  the  stars  also  are  earth,  fire,  and  sea  ? 
Holy  donkeydom  cares  not  for  that,  but  with 
clasped  hands  wills  to  remain  on  its  knees,  await- 
ing from  God  its  doom." 

In  a  striking  passage,  Bruno  explains  that  evil 
is  relative.  •* Nothing  is  absolutely  bad."  he  says; 
'•  because  the  viper  is  not  deadly  and  pK)isonous  to 
the  viper,  nor  the  lion  to  the  lion,  nor  dragon  to 
dragon,  nor  bear  to  bear  ;  but  each  thing  is  bad  in 
respect  to  some  other,  just  as  you.  virtuous  gods, 
are  evil  towards  the  vicious."  Again  he  says, 
"  Xobody  is  to-day  the  same  as  yesterday."  The 
immanence  of  the  universal  soul  in  the  animal 
world  he  illustrated  thus  :  "  "U'ith  what  under- 
standing the  ant  gnaws  her  grain  of  wheat,  lest 
it  should  sprout  in  her  underground  habitation! 
The  fool  says  this  is  instinct,  but  we  say  it  is  a 
species  of  understanding.'' 

These  are  some  of  Bruno's  characteristic  opin- 
ions. Their  influence  upon  subsequent  philoso- 
phers has  been  much  discussed.  His  conception 
of  the  universe  as  an  '*  animal  "  corresponds  with 
Kepler's  well-known  view.  Spinoza,  the  great  pan- 
theist of  the  following  century,  took  from  him  the 
idea  of  an  immanent  God,  and  the  distinction 
between   natura  naturans  and    natura  naturata. 


GIORDANO  BRUNO  295 

Schelling,  who  acknowledged  Bruno  as  his  master, 
found  in  him  the  principle  of  the  indifference  of 
contraries ;  Hegel,  that  of  the  absolute  identity 
of  subject  and  object,  of  the  real  and  the  ideal, 
of  thought  and  things.  La  Croze  discovers  in 
Bruno  the  germs  of  most  of  Leibnitz's  theories, 
beginning  with  the  monad.  Symonds  declares  that 
"he  anticipated  Descartes's  position  of  the  iden- 
tity of  mind  and  being.  The  modem  theory  of 
evolution  was  enunciated  by  him  in  pretty  plain 
terms.  He  had  grasped  the  physical  law  of  the 
conservation  of  energy.  He  solved  the  problem 
of  evil  by  defining  it  to  be  a  relative  condition  of 
imperfect  energy.  .  .  .  TV"e  have  indeed  reason 
to  marvel  how  many  of  Bruno's  intuitions  have 
formed  the  stuff  of  later,  more  elaborated  systems, 
and  still  remain  the  best  which  these  contain.  We 
have  reason  to  wonder  how  many  of  his  divina- 
tions have  worked  themselves  into  the  common 
fund  of  modem  beliefs,  and  have  become  philo- 
sophical truisms."  ^  Hallam,  who  strangely  under- 
valued Bruno,  states  that  he  understood  the  prin- 
ciple of  compound  forces.  After  making  due 
allowance  for  the  common  tendency  to  read  back 
into  men's  opinions  interpretations  they  never 
dreamed  of,  we  shall  find  that  much  solid  sub- 

^  From  J.  A.  SymondB's  Renaissance  in  Italy :    The  Catholic 
Reaction,  chap.  iz. 


296  PORTRAITS 

stance   still   remains   to  Bruno's   credit.      He  is, 
above  all,  suggestive. 

Ill 

We  come  now  to  that  perplexing  question, 
*'  Why  did  he  recant  ?  How  could  he,  who  was 
so  evidently  a  freethinker  and  a  rationalist,  hon- 
estly affirm  his  belief  in  the  Roman  Catholic  dog- 
mas?" His  confession  seems  to  be  straightfor- 
ward and  candid  :  had  he  wished  to  propitiate  the 
Inquisitors,  he  needed  only  not  to  mention  his 
philosophical  doubts  about  the  Incarnation  and 
the  Trinity ;  he  needed  only  to  admit  that  there 
were  in  his  writings  errors  which  he  no  longer  ap- 
proved, and  to  throw  himself  on  the  mercy  of  his 
tribunal.  What,  then,  was  the  motive  ?  Was  it 
physical  fear  ?  Did  life  and  liberty  seem  too  tempt- 
ing to  him  who  loved  both  so  intensely;  prefer- 
able to  death,  no  matter  how  great  the  sacrifice  of 
honor  ?  Did  he  simply  perjure  himself  ?  Or  was 
he  suddenly  overcome  by  a  doubt  that  his  opinions 
might  be,  after  all,  wrong,  and  that  the  Church 
might  be  right  ?  He  testified,  and  others  testified, 
that  before  he  had  any  thought  of  being  brought 
to  trial  he  had  determined  to  make  his  peace  with 
the  Pope,  and  to  obtain  leave,  if  he  could,  to  pass 
the  remainder  of  his  life  in  philosophical  tranquil- 
lity. Did  the  early  religious  associations  and  preju- 
dices, which  he  supposed  had  long  ago  ceased  to 


GIORDANO   BRUNO  297 

influence  him,  unexpectedly  spring  up,  to  reassert 
a  temporary  tyranny  over  his  reason  ?  Many  men 
not  in  jeopardy  of  their  lives  have  had  this  expe- 
rience of  the  tenacious  vitality  of  the  doctrines 
taught  to  them  before  they  could  reason.  Did 
it  seem  to  him  a  huge  Aristophanic  joke  that  a 
church  which  then  had  but  little  real  faith  and 
less  true  religion  in  it  should  call  any  one  to  ac- 
count for  any  opinions,  and  that  therefore  the  lips 
might  well  enough  accept  her  dogmas  without 
binding  the  heart  to  them?  Many  men,  who  be- 
lieved themselves  sincere,  have  subscribed  in  a 
"  non-natural  sense  "  to  the  Thirty-nine  Articles  of 
Anglicanism  ;  did  Bruno  subscribe  to  the  Catholic 
Articles  under  a  similar  mental  reservation  ?  Or, 
believing,  as  he  did,  that  every  religion  contains 
fragments  of  the  truth,  could  he  not  honestly  say 
he  believed  in  Catholicism,  at  the  same  time  hold- 
ing that  her  symbols  had  a  deeper  significance 
than  her  theologians  perceived,  and  that  the  truth 
he  apprehended  was  immeasurably  wider?  —  just 
as  a  mathematician  might  subscribe  to  the  multi- 
plication table,  knowing  that  it  is  not  the  final 
bound  of  mathematical  truth,  but  only  the  first 
step  towards  higher  and  unlimited  investigations. 

Throughout  his  examination  Bruno  was  careful 
to  make  the  distinction  between  the  province  of 
faith  and  the  province  of  speculation.  "  Speaking 
after  the  manner  of  philosophy,"  he  confessed  that 


298  PORTRAITS 

he  had  reached  conclusions  which,  "  speaking  as  a 
Catholic,"  he  ought  not  to  believe.  This  distinc- 
tion, which  we  now  think  uncandid  and  casuisti- 
cal, was  nevertheless  admitted  in  his  time.  All 
through  that  century,  men  had  argued  "philoso- 
phically "  about  the  immortality  of  the  soul ;  but 
"  theologically  "  such  an  argument  was  impossible, 
because  the  Church  pronounced  the  immortality  of 
the  soul  to  be  an  indisputable  fact.  But,  we  ask, 
can  a  man  honestly  hold  two  antagonistic,  mutu- 
ally destroying  beliefs  ;  saying,  for  instance,  that 
his  reason  has  disproved  the  Incarnation,  but  that 
his  faith  accepts  that  doctrine  ?  Or  was  Bruno 
unaware  of  his  contradictions  ?  Of  how  many  of 
your  opinions  concerning  the  ultimate  mysteries  of 
life  do  you,  reader,  feel  so  sure  that,  were  you  sud- 
denly seized,  imprisoned,  brought  face  to  face  with 
a  pitiless  tribunal,  and  confronted  by  torture  and 
burning,  you  —  one  man  against  the  world  — 
would  boldly,  without  hesitation,  publish  and  main- 
tain them?  Galileo,  one  of  mankind's  noblest, 
could  not  endure  this  ordeal,  although  the  evi- 
dence of  his  senses  and  the  testimony  of  his  rea- 
son contradicted  the  denial  which  pain  and  dread 
wrung  from  him.  Savonarola,  another  great  spirit, 
flinched  likewise.  These  are  points  we  are  bound 
to  consider  before  we  pronounce  Bruno  a  hypo- 
crite or  a  coward. 


GIORDANO   BRUNO  299 

The  last  news  we  have  of  him  in  Venice  is 
when,  "  having  been  bidden  several  times,"  he  rose 
from  his  knees,  after  confessing  his  penitence,  on 
that  30th  of  July,  1592.  The  authorities  of  the 
Inquisition  at  Rome  immediately  opened  negotia- 
tions for  his  extradition.  The  Doge  and  Senate 
demurred  ;  they  hesitated  before  establishing  the 
precedent  whereby  Rome  could  reach  over  and 
punish  Venetian  culprits.  Time  was,  indeed,  when 
Venice  allowed  no  one,  though  he  were  the  Pope, 
to  meddle  in  her  administration  ;  but,  alas  !  the 
lion  had  died  out  in  Venetian  souls.  Finally, 
"  wishing  to  give  satisfaction  to  his  Holiness," 
Doge  and  Senators  consented  to  deliver  Bruno  up ; 
the  Pope  expressed  his  gratification,  and  said  that 
he  would  never  force  upon  the  Republic  "  bones 
hard  to  gnaw."  So  Bruno  was  taken  to  Rome. 
In  the  "  list  of  the  prisoners  of  the  Holy  Office, 
made  Monday,  April  5,  1599,"  we  find  that  he 
was  imprisoned  on  February  27,  1553.  What  hap- 
pened during  almost  seven  years  we  can  only  sur- 
mise. We  may  be  sure  the  Inquisitors  searched 
his  books  for  further  heretical  doctrine.  We  hear 
that  they  visited  him  in  his  cell  from  time  to  time, 
and  exhorted  him  to  recant,  but  that  he  replied 
that  he  had  nothing  to  abjure,  and  that  they  had 
misinterpreted   him.      A   memorial  which  he  ad- 


300  PORTRAITS 

dressed  to  them  they  did  not  read.  Growing  weary 
of  their  ejBforts  to  save  his  soul,  they  would  tempo- 
rize no  more  ;  on  a  given  day  he  must  retract,  or 
be  handed  over  to  the  secular  arm.  That  day 
came:  Giordano  Bruno  stood  firm,  though  he  knew 
the  penalty  was  death. 

We  cannot  tell  when  he  first  resolved  to  dare 
and  suffer  all.  Some  time  during  those  seven 
years  of  solitude  and  torment,  he  awoke  to  the 
great  fact  that 

"  'T  is  man's  perdition  to  be  safe, 
When  for  the  truth  he  ought  to  die." 

Mere  existence  he  could  purchase  with  the  base 
coin  of  cowardice  or  casuistry  ;  but  that  would  be, 
not  life,  but  a  living  shame,  and  he  refused.  Who 
can  tell  how  hard  instinct  pleaded,  —  how  the 
thoughts  of  freedom,  how  the  longings  for  com- 
panions, how  the  recollections  of  that  beautiful 
Neapolitan  home  which  he  loved  and  wished  to 
revisit,  how  the  desire  to  explore  yet  more  freely 
the  beauties  and  the  mysteries  of  the  divine  uni- 
verse, came  to  him  with  reasons  and  excuses  to 
tempt  him  from  his  resolution?  But  conscience 
supported  him.  He  took  Truth  by  the  hand, 
turned  his  back  on  the  world  and  its  joy  and  sun- 
shine, and  followed  whither  she  led  into  the  silent, 
sunless  unknown.     Let  us  dismiss  the  theory  that 


GIORDANO  BRUNO  301 

he  was  impelled  by  the  desire  to  escape  in  this 
way  from  an  imprisonment  which  threatened  to 
be  perpetual ;  let  us  dismiss,  and  contemptuously 
dismiss,  the  insinuation  of  an  English  writer,  that 
Bruno's  purpose  was,  by  a  theatrical  death,  to 
startle  the  world  which  had  begun  to  forget  him 
in  his  confinement.  To  impute  a  low  motive  to  a 
noble  deed  is  surely  as  base  as  to  extenuate  a 
crime.  Bruno  had  no  sentimental  respect  for  mar- 
tyrs ;  but  on  the  day  when  he  resolved  to  die  for 
his  convictions,  he  proved  his  kinship  with  the 
noblest  martyrs  and  heroes  of  the  race. 

On  February  8,  1600,  he  was  brought  before 
Cardinal  Mandruzzi,  the  Supreme  Inquisitor.  He 
was  formally  degraded  from  his  order,  sentence  of 
death  was  pronounced  against  him,  and  he  was 
given  up  to  the  secular  authorities.  During  the 
reading,  he  remained  tranquil,  thoughtful.  "When 
the  Inquisitor  ceased,  he  uttered  those  memorable 
words,  which  still,  judging  from  the  recent  alarm 
in  the  Vatican,  resound  ominously  in  the  ears  of 
the  Romish  hierarchy :  "  Peradventure  you  pro- 
nounce this  sentence  against  me  with  greater  fear 
than  I  receive  it."  After  nine  days  had  been 
allowed  for  his  recantation,  he  was  led  forth,  on 
February  17,  to  the  Campo  di  Fiora,  —  once  an 
amphitheatre,  built  by  Pompey,  and  now  a  vege- 
table market.     When  he  had  been  bound  to  the 


302  PORTRAITS 

stake,  he  protested,  according  to  one  witness,  that 
he  died  willingly,  and  that  his  soul  would  mount 
with  the  smoke  into  paradise.  Another  account 
says  that  he  was  gagged,  to  prevent  his  uttering 
blasphemies.  As  the  flames  leaped  up,  a  crucifix 
was  held  before  him,  but  he  turned  his  head  away. 
He  uttered  no  scream,  nor  sigh,  nor  murmur,  as 
Hus  and  Servetus  had  done ;  even  that  last  mortal 
agony  of  the  flesh  could  not  overcome  his  spirit. 
And  when  nothing  remained  of  his  body  but 
ashes,  these  were  gathered  up  and  tossed  to  the 
winds. 

Berti,  to  whose  indefatigable  and  enlightened 
researches,  extending  over  forty  years,  we  owe  our 
knowledge  of  Bruno's  career,^  says  justly  that 
Bruno  bequeathed  to  his  countrymen  the  example 
of  an  Italian  dying  for  an  ideal,  —  a  rare  example 
in  the  sixteenth  century,  but  emulated  by  thou- 
sands of  Italians  in  the  nineteenth.  To  us  and  to 
all  men  his  death  brings  not  only  that  lesson,  but 
it  also  teaches  that  no  tribunal,  whether  religious 
or  political,  has  a  right  to  coerce  the  conscience 
and  inmost  thoughts  of  any  human  being.  Let  a 
man's  deeds,  so  far  as  they  affect  the  community, 
be  amenable  to  its  laws,  but  his  opinions  should 

1  See  Berti's  work,  Giordano  Bruno  da  Nola ;  Sua  Vita  e  Sua 
Dottrina,  1889.  This  excellent  biography  deserves  to  be  trans- 
lated into  English. 


GIORDANO  BRUNO  303 

be  free  and  inviolable.  We  can  grant  that  the 
Torquemadas  and  Calvins  and  Loyolas  were  sin- 
cere, and  that,  from  their  point  of  view,  they  were 
justified  in  persecuting  men  who  differed  from 
them  in  religion ;  for  the  heretic,  they  believed, 
was  Satan's  emissary,  and  deserved  no  more  mercy 
than  a  fever-infected  rag ;  but  history  admonishes 
us  that  their  point  of  view  was  not  only  cruel,  but 
wrong.  No  man,  no  church,  is  infallible :  there- 
fore it  may  turn  out  that  the  opinions  which  the 
orthodoxy  of  yesterday  deemed  pernicious  have 
infused  new  blood  into  the  orthodoxy  of  to-day. 
Bruno  declared  that  the  universe  is  infinite  and 
its  worlds  are  innumerable ;  the  Roman  Inquisi- 
tion, in  its  ignorance,  knew  better.  Galileo  de- 
clared that  the  earth  moves  round  the  sun  ;  the 
Inquisition,  in  its  ignorance,  said,  No.  It  burned 
Bruno,  it  harried  Galileo ;  yet,  after  three  centu- 
ries, which  do  we  believe  ?  And  if  the  Roman 
Church  was  fallible  in  matters  susceptible  of  easy 
proof,  shall  we  believe  that  it,  or  any  other  church, 
is  infallible  in  matters  immeasurably  deeper  and 
beyond  the  scope  of  finite  demonstration  ?  Cardi- 
nal Bellarmine,  an  upright  man,  and  perhaps  the 
ablest  Jesuit  of  any  age,  was  the  foremost  Inquisi- 
tor in  bringing  Bruno  to  the  stake,  and  in  men- 
acing Galileo  with  the  rack ;  but  should  a  schoolboy 
of  ten  now  uphold  Bellarmine's  theory  of  the  solar 


304  PORTRAITS 

system,  he  would  be  sent  into  the  corner  with  a 
fool's-cap  on  his  head. 

Strange  is  it  that  mankind,  who  have  the  most 
nro-ent  need  for  truth,  should  have  been  in  all 
ages  so  hostile  to  receiving  it.  Starving  men  do 
not  kill  their  rescuers  who  bring  them  bread; 
whereas  history  is  little  more  than  the  chronicle 
of  the  persecution  and  slaughter  of  those  who  have 
brought  food  for  the  soul.  Doubtless  the  first 
savage  who  suggested  that  reindeer-meat  would 
taste  better  cooked  than  raw  was  slain  by  his  com- 
panions as  a  dangerous  innovator.  Ever  since  that 
time,  the  messengers  of  truth  have  been  stoned,  and 
burned,  and  ganched,  and  crucified  ;  yet  their  mes- 
sage has  been  delivered,  and  has  at  last  prevailed. 
This  is,  indeed,  the  best  encouragement  we  derive 
from  history,  and  the  fairest  presage  of  the  per- 
fectibility of  mankind. 

The  study  of  the  works  of  Giordano  Bruno, 
which  has  been  revived  and  extended  during  this 
century,  is  one  evidence  of  a  more  general  tolera- 
tion, and  of  a  healthy  desire  to  know  the  opinions 
of  all  kinds  of  thinkers.  One  reason  why  Bruno 
has  attracted  modern  investigators  is  because  so 
many  of  his  doctrines  are  in  tune  with  recent 
metaphysical  and  scientific  theories ;  and  it  seems 
probable  that,  for  a  while  at  least,  the  interest 
awakened  in  him  will  increase  rather  than  dimin- 


GIORDANO   BRUNO  305 

ish,  until,  after  the  republication  and  examination 
of  all  his  writings,  a  just  estimate  of  his  specula- 
tions shall  have  been  made.  Much  will  undoubt- 
edly have  to  be  thrown  out  as  obsolete  or  fanciful ; 
much  as  flippant  and  inconsistent ;  much  as  vitiated 
by  the  cumbrous  methods  of  scholasticism,  and  the 
tedious  fashion  of  expounding  philosophy  by  means 
of  allegory  and  satire.  But,  after  all  the  chaff  has 
been  sifted  and  all  the  excrescences  have  been 
lopped  off,  something  precious  will  remain. 

The  very  diversity  of  opinions  about  the  upshot 
and  value  of  his  teaching  insures  for  him  the  at- 
tention of  scholars  for  some  time  to  come.  Those 
thinkers  who  can  be  quickly  classified  and  easily 
understood  are  as  quickly  forgotten  ;  only  those 
who  elude  classification,  and  constantly  surprise 
us  by  turning  a  new  facet  towards  us,  and  provoke 
debate,  are  sure  of  a  longer  consideration.  And 
see  how  conflicting  are  the  verdicts  passed  upon 
Bruno.  Sir  Philip  Sidney  and  that  fine  group 
of  men  who  just  preceded  the  Shakespearean  com- 
pany were  his  friends,  and  listened  eagerly  to  his 
speculations.  Hegel  says  :  "  His  inconstancy  has 
no  other  motive  than  his  great-hearted  enthusiasm. 
The  vulgar,  the  little,  the  finite,  satisfied  him  not ; 
he  soared  to  the  sublime  idea  of  the  Universal 
Substance."  The  French  philosophes  of  the  eigh- 
teenth century  debated  whether  he  were  an  athe- 


306  PORTRAITS 

ist ;  the  critics  of  the  nineteenth  century  declare 
him  to  be  a  pantheist.  Hallam  thought  that,  at 
the  most,  he  was  but  a  "  meteor  of  philosophy." 
Berti  ranks  him  above  all  the  Italian  philosophers 
of  his  epoch,  and  above  all  who  have  since  lived  in 
Italy  except  Rosmini,  and  perhaps  Gioberti.  Some 
have  called  him  a  charlatan ;  some,  a  prophet. 
Finally,  Leo  XIII,  in  an  allocution  which  was  read 
from  every  Romish  pulpit  in  Christendom,  asserted 
that  "  his  writings  prove  him  an  adept  in  panthe- 
ism and  in  shameful  materialism,  imbued  with 
coarse  errors,  and  often  inconsistent  with  him- 
self;" and  that  "his  talents  were  to  feign,  to  lie, 
to  be  devoted  wholly  to  himself,  not  to  bear  con- 
tradiction, to  be  of  a  base  mind  and  wicked  heart." 
As  we  read  these  sentences  of  Leo  XIII,  and  his 
further  denunciation  of  those  who,  like  Bruno,  ally 
themselves  to  the  Devil  by  using  their  reason,  we 
reflect  that,  were  popes  as  powerful  now  as  they 
were  three  centuries  ago,  they  would  have  found 
reason  enough  to  burn  Mill  and  Darwin,  and  many 
another  modern  benefactor. 

Bruno's  character,  like  his  philosophy,  offers  so 
many  points  for  dispute  that  it  cannot  soon  cease 
to  interest  men.  He  is  so  human  —  neither  demi- 
god nor  demon,  but  a  creature  of  perplexities  and 
contradictions  —  that  he  is  far  more  fascinating 
than  those  men  of  a  single  faculty,  those  mono- 


GIORDANO   BRUNO  307 

tones  whom   we   soon    estimate  and  tire  of.     His 
vitality,  his  daring,  his  surprises,  stimulate  us.     In 
an  age  when  the  growing  bulk  of  rationalism  casts 
a  pessimistic  shadow  over  so  many  hopes,  it  is  en- 
couraging to  know  that  the  rationalist  Bruno  saw 
no  reason  for  despair ;  and  when  some  persons  are 
seriously  asking  whether  life  be  worth  living,  it 
is  inspiring  to  point  to  a  man  to  whom  the  boon 
of  life  was  so  precious  and  its  delights  seemed  so 
inexhaustible.     At  any  period,  when  many  minds, 
after  exploring  all  the  avenues  of  science,  report 
that  they  perceive  only  dead  matter  everywhere,  it 
must  help  some  of  them  to  learn  that  Bruno  be- 
held throughout  the  whole  creation  and  in  every 
creature  the  presence  of  an  infinite   Unity,  of  a 
Soul  of  the  World,  whose  attributes  are  power, 
wisdom,  and  love.     He  was  indeed  "  a  God-intox- 
icated   man."      Aristotle,   Ptolemy,  and   Aquinas 
spun  their  cobwebs  round  the  border  of  the  nar- 
row circle  in  which,  they  asserted,  all  truth,  mun- 
dane and  celestial,  was    comprehended ;    Bruno's 
restless  spirit  broke  through  the  cobwebs,  and  dis- 
covered limitless  spaces,  innumerable  worlds,  be- 
yond.    To  his   enraptured   eyes,   all   things  were 
parts  of  the   One,  the  Ineffable.     "The  Inquisi- 
tion and  the  stake,"  says  Mr.  Symonds,  "  put  an 
end  abruptly  to  his  dream.     But  the  dream  was 
80  golden,  so  divine,  that  it  was  worth  the  pangs 


308  PORTRAITS 

of  martyrdom.  Can  we  say  the  same  for  Hegel's 
system,  or  for  Schopenhauer's,  or  for  the  encyclo- 
paedic ingenuity  of  Herbert  Spencer?"  By  his 
death  Bruno  did  not  prove  that  his  convictions 
are  true,  but  he  proved  beyond  peradventure  that 
he  vras  a  true  man ;  and  by  such  from  the  begin- 
ning has  human  nature  been  raised  tovjrards  that 
ideal  nature  which  we  believe  divine. 


BRYANT 

There  are  many  good  reasons  why  we  should 
celebrate  the  one  hundredth  birthday  of  William 
Cullen  Bryant.^  Not  the  least  of  them  is  this, 
that  in  bringing  him  our  tribute  we  also  commem- 
orate the  birthday  of  American  poetry.  He  was 
our  earliest  poet,  and  "  Thanatopsis  "  our  earliest 
poem.  Through  him,  therefore,  we  make  festival 
to  the  Muse  who  has  taught  many  since  him  to 
sing. 

Older  than  Bryant  were  three  single-poem  men, 
—  Francis  Scott  Key,  Joseph  Hopkinson,  and 
John  Howard  Payne ;  yet,  so  far  as  I  can  learn, 
their  three  poems  were  written  later  than  "  Thana- 
topsis," and,  after  all,  neither  "  The  Star  Spangled 
Banner,"  nor  "  Hail  Columbia,"  nor  "  Home, 
Sweet  Home,"  would  rank  high  as  poetry.  Like- 
wise, though  Fitz-Greene  Halleck  was  older  than 
Bryant  by  four  years,  and  once  enjoyed  a  consid- 
erable vogue,  his  verse  is  now  obsolescent,  if  not 
obsolete.  In  the  anthologies  —  those  presses  of 
faded  poetical  flowers  —  you  will  still  find  some 

*  First  printed  in  The  Review  of  Reviews,  New  York,  October, 
1894. 


310  PORTRAITS 

of  his  pieces  ;  but  which  of  us  now  regards  "  Marco 
Bozzaris  "  as  the  "  finest  martial  poem  in  the  lan- 
guage "  ? 

Bryant's  priority  among  his  immediate  contem- 
poraries is  thus  clearly  established ;  furthermore, 
a  considerable  interval  separated  him  from  that 
group  of  American  poets  who  rose  to  eminence  in 
the  two  decades  before  the  civil  war.  Bryant 
was  born  in  1794,  Emerson  in  1803,  Longfellow 
and  Whittier  in  1807,  Holmes  and  Poe  in  1809, 
Lowell  and  Whitman  in  1819.  An  almost  un- 
exampled precocity  also  set  Bryant's  pioneership 
beyond  dispute. 

But  when  we  call  Bryant  the  earliest  American 
poet,  and  "  Thanatopsis "  the  earliest  American 
poem,  we  must  not  suppose  that  both  had  not  had 
many  ineffectual  predecessors.  Versifiers,  like 
milliners,  flourish  from  age  to  age,  and  their  works 
are  forgotten  in  favor  of  a  later  fashion.  Who 
the  forgotten  predecessors  of  Bryant  were,  he  him- 
self will  tell  us.  Being  asked  in  February,  1818, 
to  write  an  article  on  American  poetry  for  the 
North  American  Reniew  he  replied  :  — 

"  Most  of  the  American  poets  of  much  note,  I 
believe,  I  have  read,  —  Dwight,  Barlow,  Trumbull, 
Humphreys,  Honeywood,  Clifton,  Paine.  The 
works  of  Hopkins  I  have  never  met  with.  I  have 
seen  Philip  Freneau's  writings,  and  some  things  by 


BRYANT  311 

Francis  Hopkinson.  There  was  a  Dr.  Ladd,  if  I 
am  not  mistaken  in  the  name,  of  Rhode  Island, 
who,  it  seems,  was  much  celebrated  in  his  time  for 
his  poetical  talent,  of  whom  I  have  seen  hardly 
anj'thing ;  and  another,  Dr.  Church,  a  Tory  at  the 
beginning  of  the  Revolution,  who  was  comj^elled 
to  leave  the  country,  and  some  of  whose  satirical 
verses  which  I  have  heard  recited  possess  consid- 
erable merit  as  specimens  of  forcible  and  glowing 
invective.  I  have  read  most  of  Mrs.  Morton's 
poems,  and  turned  over  a  volume  of  stale  and 
senseless  rhymes  by  Mrs.  Warren.  Before  the 
time  of  these  writers,  some  of  whom  are  still  alive, 
and  the  rest  belong  to  the  generation  which  has 
just  passed  away,  I  imagine  that  we  could  hardly 
be  said  to  have  any  poetry  of  our  own  ;  and  indeed 
it  seems  to  me  that  American  poetry,  such  as  it 
is,  may  justly  enough  be  said  to  have  had  its  rise 
with  that  knot  of  Connecticut  poets,  Trumbull 
and  others,  most  of  whose  works  appeared  about 
the  time  of  the  Revolution."  ^ 

Bryant's  list  contains  the  name  of  not  one  poet 
whose  works  are  read  to-day.  All  these  volumes 
belong  to  fossil  literature,  —  literature,  that  is, 
which  may  be  dug  up  and  studied  for  the  light  it 
may  throw  on  the  customs  of  a  time,  or  its  intcl- 

^  A  Biogrujjfiy  of  William  Cullen  Hri/unt,  by  Parke  Godwin, 
i,  154. 


312  PORTRAITS 

lectual  development,  but  which,  so  far  as  its  own 
vitality  is  concerned,  has  passed  away  beyond  hope 
of  resuscitation.  The  historical  student  of  Amer- 
ican poetry  may  read  Barlow's  "  Columbiad  "  as  a 
matter  of  duty  ;  but  those  of  us  to  whom  poetry  is 
the  breath  of  life  will  not  seek  it  in  that  literary 
graveyard.  Reverently,  rather,  will  we  read  the 
titles  on  the  tombstones  and  pass  on. 

Almost  coeval  with  American  independence  it- 
self was  the  notion  that  there  ought  to  be  an  in- 
dependent American  literature.  The  Revolution 
had  resulted  in  the  formation  of  a  republic  new 
in  pattern,  in  opportunities,  in  ideals ;  a  republic 
which,  having  broken  forever  with  the  political 
system  of  Britain,  would  gladly  have  been  freed 
from  all  obligations  —  including  intellectual  and 
aesthetic  obligations  —  to  her.  We  hardly  realize 
how  acute  was  the  sensitiveness  of  our  great- 
grandfathers on  this  point.  The  satisfaction  they 
took  in  recalling  the  victories  of  Bennington  and 
Yorktown  vanished  when  they  were  reminded  — 
and  there  was  always  some  candid  foreigner  at 
hand  to  remind  them  —  that  a  nation's  real  great- 
ness is  measured,  not  by  the  size  of  its  crops,  nor 
by  its  millions  of  square  miles  of  surface,  nor  by 
the  rapidity  with  which  its  population  doubles, 
nor  even  by  its  ability  to  whip  King  George  the 
Third's  armies,  but  by  its  contributions  to  philo- 


BRYANT  313 

sopliy,  to  literature,  to  art,  to  religion.  "  What 
have  you  to  show  in  these  lines  ?  "  we  imagine  the 
candid  foreigner  to  have  been  perpetually  asking  ; 
and  the  patriotic  American  to  have  winced,  as  he 
had  to  reply,  "  Nothing  ;  "  unless,  indeed,  he  hap- 
pened to  have  Thomas  Jefferson's  philosophical 
poise.  To  the  slur  of  Abbe  Raynal,  that  "  Amer- 
ica had  not  produced  a  single  man  of  genius," 
Jefferson  replied :  "  When  we  shall  have  existed 
as  a  people  as  long  as  the  Greeks  did  before  they 
produced  a  Homer,  the  Romans  a  Virgil,  the  French 
a  Racine  and  Voltaire,  the  English  a  Shakespeare 
and  Milton,  should  this  reproach  be  still  true,  we 
will  inquire  from  what  unfriendly  causes  it  has 
proceeded  that  the  other  countries  of  Europe  and 
other  quarters  of  the  earth  shall  not  have  inscribed 
any  name  of  ours  on  the  roll  of  poets." 

Very  few  Americans,  however,  could  bear  with 
Jeffersonian  equanimity  the  imputation  of  inferi- 
ority. All  were  well  aware  that  they  had  just 
achieved  a  revolution  without  parallel  in  history  ; 
they  were  honestly  proud  of  it ;  and  they  could  not 
help  feeling  touchy  when  their  critics,  ignoring 
this  stupendous  achievement,  censured  them  for 
failure  in  fields  they  had  never  entered.  A  few, 
like  Jefferson,  would  respond,  "  Give  us  time  ;  " 
the  majority  either  masked  their  irritation  under 
pretended  contempt  for  the  opinion  of  foreigners, 


314  PORTRAITS 

or  silently  admitted  the  impeachment.  There 
grew  up,  on  the  one  hand,  "  spread-eagleism,"  — 
brag  over  our  material  and  political  bigness,  —  and, 
on  the  other,  an  impatient  desire  to  produce  mas- 
terpieces which  should  not  fear  comparison  with 
the  best  the  world  could  show.  The  Hebrew  pa- 
triarchs, whose  faith  Jehovah  tested  by  denying 
them  children  till  the  old  age  of  their  wives,  were 
not  less  troubled  at  the  postponement  of  their 
dearest  wishes  than  were  those  eager  watchers  for 
the  advent  of  American  genius.  Long  before 
Bryant's  little  volume  was  published,  in  1821, 
those  watchers  had  begun  to  speculate  as  to  the 
sort  of  work  in  which  that  genius  would  mani- 
fest itself,  and  then  was  conjured  up  that  bogy, 
"  The  American  Spii'it,"  which  has  flitted  up  and 
down  through  our  college  lecture-rooms  and  flut- 
tered the  minds  of  immature  critics  ever  since.  It 
was  generally  agreed  that  the  question  to  be  asked 
about  each  new  book  should  be,  "  Has  it  The  Amer- 
ican Spirit?"  and  not,  "Is  it  excellent?"  No- 
body knew  how  to  define  that  spirit,  but  everybody 
had  a  teasing  conviction  that,  unless  it  were  con- 
spicuous, the  offspring  of  American  genius  could 
not  prove  their  legitimac}'.  Foreigners,  especially 
the  English,  encouraged  this  conviction.  They  ex- 
pected something  strange  and  uncouth  ;  they  would 
accept  nothing  else  as  genuine.    Hence,  years  after- 


BRYANT  315 

ward,  when  Whitman,  with  cowboy  gait,  came 
swaggering  up  Parnassus,  shouting  nicknames 
at  the  Muses  and  ready  to  ship  Apollo  on  the 
back,  our  perspicacious  English  cousins  exclaimed, 
"  There  I  there  !  that 's  American  !  At  last  we  've 
found  a  poet  with  The  American  Spirit !  "  For 
quite  other  reasons  Whitman  deserves  serious  at- 
tention ;  not  for  those  extravagances  which  he 
deluded  himself  and  his  unrestrained  admirers  into 
thinking  were  most  precious  manifestations  of  The 
American  Spirit.  This  bogy  has  now  been  pretty 
thoroughly  exorcised,  its  followers  being  chiefly 
the  writers  of  bad  grammar,  bad  s^Delling,  and 
slang,  —  which  pass  for  dialect  stories,  —  and  an 
occasional  student  of  literature,  who  finds  very  lit- 
tle of  the  American  product  that  could  not  have 
been  produced  elsewhere.  We  may  dismiss  The 
American  Spirit,  bidding  it  seek  its  spectral  com- 
panion. The  Great  American  Novel,  but  we  must 
remember  that,  even  before  Bryant  began  to  write, 
it  was  worrying  the  minds  of  our  literary  folk. 

Bryant  himself  must  have  been  subjected,  con- 
sciously or  unconsciously,  to  the  influences  we  have 
surveyed,  —  for  who  can  escape  breathing  the  com- 
mon atmosphere  ?  But  he  had  within  him  that 
which  is  more  potent  than  any  external  mould, 
and  is  the  one  trait  hereditary  in  genius  of  every 
kind,  —  he  had  sincerity.     What  he  saw,  he  saw 


310  PORTRAITS 

with  his  own  eyes ;  what  he  spake,  he  spake  with 
his  own  lips ;  and  inevitably  it  followed  that  men 
proclaimed  him  original.  His  secret,  his  method, 
were  no  more  than  this.  "  I  saw  some  lines  by 
you  to  the  skylark,"  he  writes  to  his  brother  in 
1838.  "  Did  you  ever  see  such  a  bird  ?  Let  me 
counsel  you  to  draw  your  images,  in  describing 
Nature,  from  what  you  observe  around  you,  unless 
you  are  professedly  composing  a  description  of 
some  foreign  country,  when,  of  course,  you  will 
learn  what  you  can  from  books.  The  skylark  is 
an  Ensrlish  bird,  and  an  American  who  has  never 
visited  Europe  has  no  right  to  be  in  raptures 
about  it."  That  last  sentence  explains  Bryant; 
it  is  worth  a  hundred  essays  on  The  American 
Spirit ;  it  shoidd  be  the  warning  of  every  writer. 
The  raptures  of  Americans  over  English  skylarks 
they  had  never  seen  were  then,  and  have  always 
been,  the  bane  of  our  literature.  Eighty  years 
ago  the  lowlands  at  the  foot  of  our  Helicon  had 
been  turned  into  a  slough  by  the  tears  of  rhym- 
sters  who  did  not  feel  the  griefs  they  sang  of,  and 
the  woods  howled  with  sighs  which  caused  no  pang 
to  the  sighers.  Bryant,  by  merely  being  natural 
and  sincere,  was  instantly  recognized  as  belonging 
to  that  lineage  every  one  of  whose  children  is  a 
king. 

The  story  of  his  entry  into  literature,  though 


BRYANT  ;U7 

well  known,  cannot  be  too  often  told.  Born  at 
Cumraington,  a  little  village  on  the  Hampshire 
hills,  Massachusetts,  November  3,  1794,  his  father 
was  a  genial,  fairly  cultivated  country  doctor; 
his  mother,  Sarah  Snell,  an  indefatigable  house- 
wife, with  Yankee  common-sense  and  deep-grained 
Puritan  principles.  William  Cullen,  the  second 
of  several  children,  was  precocious;  both  parents 
encouraged  his  aptitude  for  verse-making,  and  a 
satire  which  he  wrote  in  1807  on  Jefferson  and 
the  Embargo  his  father  was  proud  to  have  printed 
in  Boston,  In  1810  young  Bryant  entered  the 
sophomore  class  of  Williams  College,  and  spent  a 
year  there.  He  hoped  to  pass  from  Williams  to 
Yale,  where  he  looked  for  more  advanced  instruc- 
tion, but  his  father's  means  did  not  permit,  and 
the  son,  instead  of  finishing  his  course  at  Wil- 
liams, went  into  a  country  lawyer's  office  and  fitted 
himself  for  the  bar.  Just  at  the  moment  of  in- 
decision, in  the  autumn  of  1811,  Bryant  wrote 
"  Thanatopsis."  Contrary  to  his  custom,  he  did 
not  show  it  to  his  father,  but  laid  it  away  with 
other  papers  in  a  drawer.  Six  years  later  Dr. 
Bryant,  whose  duties  as  a  member  of  the  Massa- 
chusetts legislature  took  him  often  to  Boston,  and 
whose  bright  parts  and  liberal  views  made  him 
welcome  in  the  foremost  circles  there,  was  asked 
by  his  friends,  who  edited  the  North  American 


318  PORTRAITS 

Meview^  for  some  contribution.  On  returning  to 
Cummington,  he  happened  to  find  his  son's  seques- 
tered papers,  and,  choosing  "  Thanatopsis  "  —  of 
which,  the  original  being  covered  with  many  cor- 
rections, he  made  a  copy  —  and  "  The  Waterfowl," 
he  sent  them  off  to  Boston,  and  they  appeared  in 
the  Review  for  September,  1817.  The  young  poet, 
having  meanwhile  completed  his  legal  studies,  was 
practicing  law  at  Great  Barrington,  unconscious  of 
the  fame  about  to  descend  upon  him.  Owing  to 
the  handwriting  of  the  copy  of  the  poems  sent 
to  the  Review,  however.  Dr.  Bryant  had  for  a 
moment  the  credit  of  being  the  author  of  "  Thana- 
topsis." 

After  duly  allowing  for  the  common  tendency 
to  make  fame  retroactive,  we  cannot  doubt  that 
*'  Thanatopsis  "  secured  immediate  and,  relatively, 
immense  recognition.  The  best  judges  agreed  that 
at  last  a  bit  of  genuine  American  literature  was 
before  them  ;  the  uncritical  but  appreciative,  from 
ministers  to  school  children,  read,  learned,  ad- 
mired, and  quoted  the  grave,  sonorous  lines. 

Thanatopsis,  —  a  Vision  of  Death  !  A  strange 
corner-stone  for  the  poetic  literature  of  the  nation 
which  had  only  recently  sprung  into  life,  —  a  nation 
conscious  as  no  other  had  been  of  its  exuberant 
vitality,  of  its  boundless  material  resources,  of  its 
expansiveness  and  invincible  will.    Yet  neither  the 


BRYANT  :119 

glory  achieved  nor  the  ambition  cherished  fired  the 
imagination  of  the  youthful  poet.  He  looked  upon 
the  earth,  and  saw  it  but  a  vast  grave  ;  he  looked 
upon  men  and  beheld,  not  their  high  ambitions  nor 
the  great  deeds  which  blazon  human  story,  but 
their  transcience,  their  mortality.  Nothing  in  life 
could  so  awe  him  as  the  majestic  mystery  of  death. 

The  mood,  I  believe,  is  not  rare  among  sensitive 
and  thoughtful  youths,  who,  just  as  their  faculties 
have  ripened  sufficiently  to  enable  them  to  feel 
a  little  of  the  unspeakable  delight  of  living,  are 
staggered  at  realizing  for  the  first  time  that  death 
is  inevitable,  and  that  the  days  of  the  longest  life 
are  few.  That  this  terrific  discovery  should  kindle 
thoughts  full  of  sublimity  need  not  surprise  us  ; 
but  we  may  well  be  astonished  that  Bryant  at 
seventeen  should  have  had  power  to  express  them 
in  a  poem  which  is  neither  morbid  nor  religiously 
commonplace. 

In  1821  Bryant  received  what  was  then  the  blue 
ribbon  of  recognition  in  being  asked  to  deliver  a 
poem  before  the  Harvard  Chapter  of  the  Phi  Beta 
Kappa  Society.  He  wrote  "  The  Ages,"  read  it 
in  Cambridge  and  printed  it,  together  with  "  Than- 
atopsis  "  and  a  few  other  pieces,  in  a  little  volume. 
The  previous  conviction  was  confirmed  ;  every  one 
spoke  of  Bryant  as  the  American  poet.  Even  the 
professional  critics  —  those  sapient  fellows  whose 


;3-20  PORTRAITS 

obtuseness  is  the  wonder  of  posterity,  the  clique 
which  pooh-poohed  Keats,  and  ha-hahed  Words- 
worth, and  bear-baited  Carlyle  —  made  in  Bryant's 
case  no  mistake.  Although  one  of  them,  indeed, 
declared  that  there  was  "no  more  poetry  in  Bry- 
ant's poems  than  in  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount," 
yet  the  opinions  were  generally  laudatory,  and  the 
critics  were  quick  in  defining  the  qualities  of  the 
new  poet.  They  found  in  him  something  of  Cow- 
per  and  something  of  Wordsworth,  but  the  resem- 
blances did  not  imply  imitation  ;  Bryant  might 
speak  their  language,  but  it  was  his  also.  No  one 
questioned  the  genuineness  of  his  inspiration,  and 
not  for  a  quarter  of  a  century  after  the  publica- 
tion of  "  Thanatopsis,"  that  is,  not  until  the  early 
forties,  —  when  Longfellow,  Whittier,  Poe,  and 
Emerson  began  to  have  a  public  for  their  poetry, 
—  did  any  one  question  Bryant's  primacy.  He  had 
been  so  long  the  only  American  poet  that  it  was 
naturally  assumed  that  he  would  always  be  the 
best.  He  had  redeemed  America  from  the  re- 
proach of  barrenness  in  poetry,  as  Irving  and 
Cooper  redeemed  its  prose,  and  Americans  could 
feel  toward  no  others  as  they  felt  toward  him. 

A  hundred  years  have  elapsed  since  his  birth ; 
three  generations  have  known  his  works  :  what  is 
Bryant  to  us,  who  are  posterity  to  him  ?  Is  he, 
like  Cimabue  in  painting,  a  mere  name  to  date 


BRYANT  :521 

from,  —  a  pioneer  whom  we  respect,  —  and  nothing 
more  ?  Far  from  it.  Bryant's  poetry  is  not  only 
chronologically  but  absolutely  interesting :  it  lives 
to-day,  and  the  qualities  which  have  vitalized  it  for 
three  quarters  of  a  century  show  no  signs  of  decay. 
It  would  be  incorrect,  of  course,  to  assert  that 
Bryant  holds  relatively  so  high  a  place  in  our  liter- 
ature as  he  held  fifty  years  ago  ;  his  estate  then 
was  the  first  poetic  clearing  in  the  wilderness ; 
its  boundaries  are  still  the  same ;  but  subsequent 
poets  have  made  other  clearings  all  round  his,  and 
brought  different  prospects  into  view  and  different 
talents  under  cultivation. 

Let  us  look  briefly  at  Bryant's  domain.  Inti- 
mate and  faithful  portrayal  of  Nature  is  the  pro- 
duct which  first  draws  our  attention ;  next  we 
perceive  that  the  observer  who  makes  the  picture 
is  a  sober  moralist.  He  delights  in  Nature  for 
her  own  sake,  for  her  beauty  and  variety  ;  and  then 
she  suggests  to  him  some  rule  of  conduct,  some 
parallel  between  her  laws  and  the  laws  of  human 
life,  by  which  he  is  comforted  and  uplifted.  Bry- 
ant, I  have  said  elsewhere,  interprets  Nature  mor- 
ally, Emerson  spiritually,  and  Shelley  emotion- 
ally. We  need  not  stop  to  inquire  which  of  these 
methods  of  interpretation  is  the  highest.  Suffice 
it  for  us  to  realize  that  all  of  them  are  valuable, 
and  that  the  poet  who  succeeds  in  identifying  him- 


322  PORTRAITS 

self  in  a  marked  degree  with  any  one  of  them  will 
not  soon  be  forgotten. 

That  Wordsworth  preceded  Bryant  in  the  moral 
interpretation  of  Nature  detracts  nothing  from 
Bryant's  merit.  The  latest  prophet  is  no  less  ori- 
ginal than  the  earliest ;  for  originality  lies  in  being 
a  prophet  at  all.  Young  Bryant,  wandering  over 
the  bleak  Hampshire  hills  or  in  the  woods  or  along 
the  brawling  streams,  had  original  impressions, 
which  he  trustingly  recorded ;  and  to-day,  if  you 
go  to  Cummington,  you  will  marvel  at  the  fidelity 
of  his  record.  But  his  poetry  is  true  not  only 
there  ;  it  is  true  in  every  region  where  Nature 
has  similar  aspects ;  symbolically,  it  is  true  every- 
where. 

There  being  no  doubt  as  to  the  veracity  of  his 
pictures,  what  shall  we  say  of  that  other  quality, 
the  moral  tone  which  pervades  them  ?  That,  too, 
is  of  a  kind  men  will  not  soon  outgrow.  It  incul- 
cates courage,  patience,  fortitude,  trust ;  it  springs 
from  the  optimism  of  one  who  believes  in  the  ulti- 
mate triumph  of  good,  not  because  he  can  prove 
it,  but  because  his  whole  being  revolts  at  the 
thought  of  evil  triumphant.  He  has  the  stoic's 
dread  of  flinching  before  any  shock  of  misfortune, 
the  Christian's  dread  of  the  taint  of  sin.  Here 
are  two  ideals,  each  the  complement  of  the  other, 
which  the  world  cannot  outgrow,  and  the  poet  who 


BRYANT  323 

—  pondering  on  a  fringed  gentian  or  the  flight  of 
a  waterfowl,  or  on  a  rivulet  bickering  among  its 
grasses  —  found  new  incitements  to  courage  and 
virtue,  thereby  associated  himself  with  the  eternal. 
To  interpret  nature  morally  in  this  fashion,  which 
is  Bryant's  fashion,  is  to  rise  far  above  the  level  of 
the  common  didacticism  of  our  pulpits.  Profes- 
sional moralists  go  to  nature  for  figures  of  sjjeech 
to  furnish  forth  their  sermons  and  religious  verse, 
as  they  go  to  their  kitchen  garden  for  vegetables  ; 
but  they  do  not  enter  Bryant's  world. 

Moreover,  in  painting  the  scenery  of  the  Hamp- 
shire hills,  and  in  saturating  his  descriptions  with 
the  moral  tonic  I  have  spoken  of,  Bryant  became 
the  representative  of  a  phase  of  New  England  life 
which  has  had  an  incalculable  influence  on  the  de- 
velopment of  this  nation.  The  mitigated  Spartan- 
ism  amid  which  his  youth  was  passed  bred  those 
colonists  who  carried  New  England  standards  with 
them  to  the  shores  of  the  Pacific.  A  Puritan  by 
derivation  and  environment,  Bryant  was  by  train- 
ing and  conviction  a  Unitarian,  —  a  combination 
which  made  him  in  a  sense  the  exemplar  both  of 
the  austerity  which  had  characterized  New  Eng- 
land ideals  in  the  past,  and  of  the  liberalism  which 
during  this  century  has  nowhere  found  more  stren- 
uous supporters  than  in  New  P]ngland. 

On  many  positive  grounds,  therefore,  Bryant's 


ty2i  PORTRAITS 

title  to  fame  rests ;  he  was  one  of  Nature's  men, 
he  shed  moral  health,  he  uttered  the  ideals  of  a 
great  race  in  a  transitional  epoch.  His  tempera- 
ment, in  making  his  poetic  product  small,  gave  him 
yet  another  hostage  against  oblivion.  The  poet 
who,  having  so  many  claims  to  the  consideration 
of  posterity,  can  also  plead  brevity,  need  not  worry 
himself  about  what  is  called  literary  immortality. 
Bryant's  typical  and  best  work  is  comprised  in  a 
dozen  poems,  the  longest  not  exceeding  140  lines. 
Kead  "  Thanatopsis,"  "  The  Yellow  Violet,"  "  In- 
scription for  the  Entrance  to  a  Wood,"  "  To  a 
Waterfowl,"  "  Green  River,"  "  A  Winter  Piece," 
"  The  Rivulet,"  "  A  Forest  Hymn,"  "  The  Past," 
"To  a  Fringed  Gentian,"  "The  Death  of  the 
Flowers,"  and  "The  Battlefield,"  and  you  have 
Bryant's  message ;  the  rest  of  his  work  either 
echoes  the  notes  already  sounded  in  these,  or  re- 
presents uncharacteristic,  and  therefore  transitory, 
moods. 

Not  less  conspicuous  than  his  excellences  are 
Bryant's  limitations.  We  may  say  of  him  that, 
like  Wordsworth,  he  did  not  always  overcome  a 
tendency  to  emphasize  the  obvious,  and  that,  like 
almost  all  contemplative  poets,  he  sometimes  made 
the  didactic  unnecessarily  obtrusive.  We  have  all 
heard  parsons  who,  after  finishing  their  sermon, 
sum  it  up  in  a  valedictory  prayer,  with  a  hint  as 


BRYANT  325 

to  its  application,  for  the  benefit  of  the  Lord; 
equally  superfluous,  even  for  mortal  readers,  is  the 
moral  too  often  appended  to  a  poem  which  is  well 
able  to  convey  its  meaning  without  it.  In  this 
respect  Bryant  resembles  most  of  our  American 
poets,  in  whom  didacticism  has  prevailed  to  an 
extent  that  will  lessen  their  repute  with  poster- 
ity ;  for  each  generation  manufactures  more  than 
enough  of  this  commodity  for  its  own  consumption, 
and  cannot  be  induced  to  try  stale  moralities  left 
over  from  the  fathers. 

Bryant's  self-control,  the  backbone  of  a  char- 
acter of  high  integrity,  prevented  him  from  in- 
didging  in  emotions  which,  if  they  be  not  the  sub- 
stance of  great  poetry,  are  the  color,  the  glow, 
which  give  great  poetry  its  charm.  He  addresses 
the  intellect;  he  has,  if  not  heat,  light;  and  he 
does  not,  as  emotional  poets  sometimes  do,  play 
the  intellect  false  or  lead  it  astray. 

In  his  versification  he  is  compact  and  stately, 
though  occasionally  stiff.  He  came  at  the  end  of 
that  metrical  drought  which  lasted  from  Milton's 
death  to  Burns,  when  the  instinct  for  writing  mu- 
sical iambics  was  lost,  and,  instead,  men  wrote  in 
measured  thuds,  by  rule.  That  phenomenon  the 
psychologist  should  explain.  How  was  it  that  a 
people  lost,  during  a  century  and  a  half,  its  ear 
for  metrical  music,  as  if  a  violinist  should  sud- 


326  PORTRAITS 

denly  prefer  a  tom-tom  to  a  violin  ?  Probably  the 
exorbitant  use  of  hymn  and  psalm  singing,  that 
came  in  with  the  Puritans,  helped  to  degrade 
English  poetry.  The  spirit  which  expelled  emo- 
tion from  worship,  and  destroyed  whatever  it  coidd 
of  the  beauty  of  England's  churches,  had  no  un- 
derstanding for  metrical  harmony.  Any  poor 
shred  of  morality,  the  tritest  dogmatic  platitude,  if 
stretched  thin,  chopped  into  the  required  number 
of  feet,  rhymed,  and  packed  into  six  or  eight 
stanzas,  with  clumsy  variations  on  the  doxology  at 
the  end,  made  a  hymn,  for  the  edification  of  per- 
sons whose  object  was  worship  and  not  beauty. 
As  a  means  to  unction,  mere  doggerel,  sung  out  of 
tune,  would  serve  as  well  as  anything. 

At  any  rate,  the  taste  for  rigid  iambics  would 
naturally  be  acquired  by  Bryant  at  his  church- 
going  in  childhood,  and  from  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury poets  whom  he  read  earliest.  The  beautiful 
variety  of  modulations  which  Coleridge,  Shelley, 
Keats,  and  Tennyson  have  shown  this  verse  —  the 
historic  metre  of  our  race  —  to  be  susceptible  of, 
lay  beyond  Bryant's  range.  His  verse  is  either 
simple,  almost  colloquial,  or  dignified,  as  befits  his 
theme  ;  even  in  ornament  he  is  sober.  As  he  never 
surpassed  the  grandeur  of  conception  of  "  Thana- 
topsis,"  so,  I  think,  he  did  not  afterward  equal 
the  splendid  metrical  sweep  of  certain  passages 
in  that  wonderful  poem. 


BRYANT  327 

And  this  fact  points  to  another :  Bryant  is  one 
of  the  few  poets  of  genuine  power  whose  poetic 
career  shows  no  advance.  The  first  arrow  he 
drew  from  his  quiver  was  the  best,  and  with  it 
he  made  his  longest  shot ;  many  others  he  sent  in 
the  same  direction,  but  they  all  fell  behind  the 
first.  This  accounts  for  the  singleness  and  depth 
of  the  impression  he  has  left ;  he  stands  for  two 
or  three  elementals,  and  thereby  keeps  his  force 
unscattered.  He  was  not,  indeed,  wholly  insensi- 
ble to  the  romanticist  stirrings  of  his  time,  as  such 
effusions  as  "  The  Damsel  of  Peru,"  "  The  Arctic 
Lover,"  and  "  The  Hunter's  Serenade,"  bear  wit- 
ness. He  w  rote  several  pieces  about  Indians,  — 
not  the  real  red  men,  but  those  imaginary  noble 
savages,  possessors  of  all  the  primitive  virtues, 
with  whom  our  grandfathers  peopled  the  Ameri- 
can forests.  He  wrote  strenuously  in  behalf  of 
Greek  emancipation  and  against  slavery;  but  even 
here,  though  the  subject  lay  very  near  his  heart, 
he  could  not  match  the  righteous  vehemence  of 
Whittier,  or  Lowell's  alternate  volleys  of  sarcasm 
and  rebuke.  Like  Antaeus,  Bryant  ceased  to  be 
powerful  when  he  did  not  tread  his  native  earth. 

We  have  thus  surveyed  his  poetical  product  and 
genius,  for  to  these  first  of  all  is  due  the  celebra- 
tion of  his  centennial,  and  we  conclude  that  his 
contemporaries  were  right  and  that  we  are  right 


328  PORTRAITS 

in  holding  his  work  precious.  But  while  it  is 
through  his  poetry  that  Bryant  survives,  let  us 
not  forget  the  worth  of  his  personality.  For  sixty 
years  he  was  the  clean  of  American  letters.  By 
liis  example  he  swept  away  the  old  foolish  idea 
that  unwillingness  to  pay  bills,  addiction  to  the 
bottle  and  women,  and  a  preference  for  frowsy 
hair  and  dirty  linen  are  necessary  attributes  of 
genius,  especially  of  poetic  genius.  He  disdained 
the  proverbial  backbiting  and  envy  of  authors. 
As  the  editor  of  a  newspaper  which  for  haK  a 
century  had  no  superior  in  the  country,  he  exer- 
cised an  influence  which  cannot  be  computed.  We 
who  live  under  the  regime  of  journalists  who  con- 
ceive it  to  be  the  mission  of  newspapers  to  deposit 
at  every  doorstep  from  eight  to  eighty  pages  of 
the  moral  and  political  garbage  of  the  world  every 
morning,  —  we  may  well  magnify  Bryant,  whose 
long  editorial  career  bore  witness  that  being  a 
journalist  should  not  absolve  a  man  from  the 
common  obligations  of  moral  cleanliness,  of  vera- 
city, of  scandal-hating,  of  delicacy,  of  honor. 

Finally,  Bryant  was  a  great  citizen,  —  that  last 
product  which  it  is  the  business  of  our  education 
and  our  political  and  social  life  to  bring  forth.  In 
a  monarchy  the  soldier  is  the  type  most  highly 
prized;  but  in  a  democracy,  if  democratic  forms 
shall  long  endure,  citizens  of  the  Bryant  pattern. 


BRYAXT  .329 

whose  chief  concern  in  public  not  less  than  in  pri- 
vate life  is  to  "  make  reason  and  the  will  of  God 
prevail,"  must  abound  in  constantly  increasing 
numbers.  Happy  and  grateful  should  we  be  that, 
in  commemorating  our  earliest  poet,  we  can  discern 
no  line  of  his  which  has  not  an  upward  tendency, 
no  trait  of  his  character  unfit  to  be  used  in  build- 
ing a  noble,  strong,  and  righteous  State. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  AT   '-OS  ANGELES 

THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 


This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 


APR  2 B~1b'< 


Form  L-9-15m-3,'34 


UNlVbJRSITY  of  CALIFORNIA 

AT 

LOS  ANGELES 

LIBRARY 


-ir- 


'f,  "'■'. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    000  730  2  5 


